


Refraction

by OnionsAreDisgusting



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character and Plot Driven, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Institute of War, Mixed Lore, Nightmares, Non-Canonical Disabled Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Summoners Don't Exist, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnionsAreDisgusting/pseuds/OnionsAreDisgusting
Summary: Light is flexible. Light always bends. Without light, there can be no life. Without life, there can be no knowledge. Demacia fades as Noxus paints the sky with red and black. Who blows the horn of rebellion in the midst of night? What will their punishment be? Cleave the heavens in half and let the light shine through.
Relationships: Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard/Diana, Past Diana/Leona (League of Legends)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another round of my bullshit.

Demacia wasn’t as cordial as Lux remembered it to be. She was careful to look upon the past with clarity, not rose-tinted glasses. Noxian armies marched through the night, travelling hundreds of miles in a day, while Demacian soldiers traipsed through the streets, intimidating women and jostling poor children out of the marble-paved road. Nobody liked Noxus. Even fewer tolerated Demacia.

To be Demacian was to be proud of their heritage, to stand for banner and crown, to protect the underprivileged and weak without recompensation. Lux sat at her windowsill and dangled her legs in the air. Being three stories high didn’t faze her. She spied a patrol of armour-clad soldiers walking the streets. They paused and turned to face a huddle of beggars. Lux turned her face away and savoured the warm sunshine and cool breeze against her face as shouting erupted from below.

She didn’t have to look to know that the soldiers drew their swords and sharpened lances. The children would scatter like roaches while the women held their swaddled babies close. The marble pavement wouldn’t taste blood but would choke on the spit hacked by the patrols in disgust as beggars ran to find a new sanctuary. They would continue on their patrol in the name of guarding the people and keeping the peace. Demacia had changed, and so had her citizens.

They had no allies. Lux moved a strand of hair out of her face. Noxus would scream in jubilation to see the gold and blue banner fall, replaced by their red and black scar. The Freljord was cold, plagued by war and political dissidence. Ionia had only begun to heal. Piltover had its mind on selective neutrality, while Zaun kept its eyes trained on the highest bidder. Demacia had high walls and a hunk of precious rock burrowed deep in the earth.

Jarvan wasn’t incompetent, but he was a fledgling ruler, inexperienced in the eyes of older councilmen and citizens who had fought in wars older than he. Lux smelled fresh bread wafting in the wind. She craned her neck. There, three streets to the east, the baker’s daughter restocked hearty bread and milled cereals. Either she was ignorant of the finger smith nabbing a loaf of bread and a sack of buckwheat when her back was turned, or she did not care and allowed the thief to take what he wished.

Burglars had become an all-too-common problem. Jarvan banned thievery. The legislation ordered all thieves to be fined five-hundred gold pieces and jailed for half a year. The sun was especially bright today. Her golden hair felt hot. Garen abhorred bandits with a burning passion. The Crownguard estate had once been raided by a band of thieves dressed in navy and carrying curved daggers. They stole loaves of bread, a wheel of Demacian white cheddar, fruit preserves, garlic, salted meats, and a rack of lamb. Basic necessities that could have easily been replaced. The crooks were caught, fined, and executed.

Jarvan outlawed public executions. He believed it was unbecoming for Demacia to stoop so low as to adopt practices from Noxus. The executions were carried out privately in dingy dungeons after weeks of incarceration, starvation, and thirst. Torture was rare, but some guards were all too eager to make their prisoners squeal. Lux set her jaw. The gilded clock read late in the afternoon. Dinner would be served soon, and then she would be free to roam around the marble streets to digest her food while beggars shrank away and starved.

She had seven months to herself. The remaining five months were spent sequestered in the Institute, waging battle after battle against enemy representatives in exchange for political compensation and a paper-thin peace between tense nations. As long as the Institute existed, there would be no bloodshed. Espionage, however, was allowed and largely unregulated.

Noxian spies were easy to spot. They tended to favour the shadows and had difficulty in masking their prominent accent. Unlike Demacian articulation, Noxians dragged their vowels and spat out their consonants. Their sentences were laced with creative expletives regardless of their mood. Noxian spies were executed under the previous king’s decree. Demacian spies in Noxian territory fared much worse. While she was never permitted to the front lines, Lux had seen Noxian soldiers reduce the strongest, brawniest Demacian men down to blubbering kittens. Noxian steel cut deeper and more liberally than Demacian diplomacy.

Dinner was roasted suckling pig, potatoes with garlic and dill, roasted vegetable skewers, and baskets of bread imported from the Agricultural District. Garen ate most of the pig himself. Lux stuck to vegetables, a conservative slice of pork belly, and some bread. At night, she locked her windows, checked the corners of her room for tiny cameras, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Jarvan sent for her in the morning. The servants roused her with little patience and placed a bowl of thick porridge and raisins on her bedside table. It was pasty, but the raisins added much-needed sweetness. Jarvan was waiting for her in the throne room. Out of respect for his dear father, he blanketed the throne in a white veil while he sat beside it.

Lux bowed at the waist. He stood up and motioned for her to follow him into the strategy room. Dust gathered at the corners. Servants weren’t allowed inside. He stared hard at the unfurled map of Runeterra laid across the table. Lux shut the door.

“Noxus grows bold.” He said. She kept her face impassive. “In a few weeks, they could be at our doorstep. I’ve had to call for an unprecedented number of executions in recent days.” He wiped at his face with his hand and collapsed into a chair, holding his head in his hands.

To Noxus, spies were expendable. Calling Noxian intruders “spies” was too grand a title. They were ordinary civilians, usually of the poor, labour class, too desperate for coin and food for their family, willing to take on any job so long as it provided a hot meal. Lux didn’t allow herself to feel much pity for Noxian spies. If she were in their shoes, dirty and desperate, an infiltration wouldn’t seem like much. A shame their heads had to roll.

“To make matters worse,” He straightened up. Any trace of exhaustion disappeared from his posture. “there have been more sightings of cursed magic within our walls. The patrols have little evidence to follow, only baseless anecdotes from civilians. The Mageseekers are stretched thin as is. It would be disastrous to have more killings and riots break out as a result of my ineptitude.” Lux kept her mouth shut.

“The grand council is pressuring me to do something about the witchcraft plaguing our fair city. I have yet to reach a jurisdiction to present before them, but a certain matter has absorbed my attention.” Jarvan stood up and pointed at the map. His fingertip grazed the Ionian islands, now coloured red with Noxian colonization.

“As I said, Noxus grows bold. While I don’t care for Ionian neutrality or their… tolerance towards magic, Noxian expansion is a threat to us all. I’ll die before I see their flag erected over Demacia.” He set his jaw and gave Lux a firm look.

“There is a ship leaving for the Ionian mainlands in three days. From there, you’re to find your way to a fledgling Noxian colony near the western ports. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but you must remain unseen and undiscovered. I’d hate to think what would happen if Noxian officials got their hands on you.” Lux chewed the inside of her cheek. The idea of infiltrating a Noxian colony wasn’t appealing, as crime and poverty followed their armies like an incessant plague.

“I want you to gather information regarding their strengths and weaknesses. They have numbers and ruthless tact, but I need to understand if our defences can withstand an attack from the inside.” He eyed the map and made a small change with a pencil. “Gather your things, Luxanna, and be sure to bring enough. You’re to remain in the colony for one month, then travel to mainland Ionia to remain for an additional two weeks. I recognize the gravity of this assignment, Luxanna. I understand that I’m putting your life in danger. You’ve done much much for Demacia, not just as a Crownguard, but also as my trusted friend, so it’s with despondence that I admit I cannot afford to send a Demacian ship to retrieve you. Noxians have eyes everywhere. You’ll have to find a way back.”

“Understood.” She breathed in through her nose and out her mouth. Her blood boiled. “How am I to deliver my reports?” Friend or not, for three months, Jarven had kept her on stand-by, unwilling to let her explore outside of Demacia City in case an opportunity arose. 

“Noxian soldiers are trained to recognize Demacian hawks. You’ll have to keep your reports stashed well. Write backwards if you must.” She gave a terse nod. “Make yourself scarce around known Noxian and Ionian proxies. It would be a catastrophe if word got out that a Crownguard and Institute champion was sent to infiltrate foreign territory. Any resemblance of peace would be shattered.”

None of the servants looked her way as she left the throne room. Her stomach rolled with unease. Nerves. She piled what little necessary belongings she owned onto her bed and packed them into an inconspicuous, brown suitcase. As she left the strategy room, Jarvan had made a pointed comment about her hair colour. Lux zipped the suitcase with more force than necessary.

Demacia City was always busy during the midmorning, regardless of the day. Since the king’s death, patrols had only increased. Lux brushed past a group of tall soldiers. Jarvan was paranoid but determined to prove his worth as the son of Jarvan III and the rightful ruler of Demacia. She set her jaw and kept her eyes trained forward as a woman, dressed in dirty rags and cloak, snatched her children out of the street. She needed to buy clothes. The blander, the better. 

The conservative pouch of gold she brought with her was more than enough to purchase a new wardrobe of grey, brown, tan, and dark green clothing. Her presence in the poverty district drew wide-eyed stared and hushed whispers. She gathered her armful of clothing and made her way back to the Crownguard estate.

A sharp cry and the distinct sound of metal boots clattering against marble pavement caught her attention. Shouts arose from the throng of people gathering around a downed man, hand plastered across his bleeding temple. Lux stuffed her new wardrobe in a cloth bag, slung it over her shoulder, and followed the sounds of pain.

She didn’t have to travel far. Just outside the poverty district, Mageseekers brute-forced their way through the thick crowd. She slipped through small openings between people until she held eye contact with the downed man. Blood trickled from his temple, and when the Mageseeks bent as a unit to drag him away, his hand grappled against their metal cuffs, exposing the eye socket. His left eye was missing. Lux swallowed what little saliva accumulated in her mouth to quench her dry throat.

He cried out for justice and hacked out blood when a Mageseeker kicked at his ribcage. Lux muscled through the enclosing crowd flinging jeers and glares, family crest already hot in her hand.

“Crownguard.” She announced to the few Mageseekers that cared. Her authority was never challenged but often brushed aside. “Release this man at once. You have no substantial proof that this man is capable of cursed magic.”

The Mageseekers sneered and dropped the man’s arms. He fell onto his back and rolled onto his side, clutching his throbbing head. Lux gritted her teeth , feeling the ache building in her gums, and kept her face neutral. A woman, presumably his wife, knelt and gathered him into her arms. He groaned and hid his bruised face from the seeking sun.

“We ‘ad reports of strange magics being performed. This man was sighted brandishing a glowing staff.”

Lux ignored her twitching eyelid. “Anecdotal evidence does not qualify as considerable evidence. If this man,” She paused for another glance at his wounds. The woman had covered him with her shawl and wiped his dirtied forehead with a wet cloth. “was accused of being a mage, then you report those accusations to Prince Jarvan and await further instruction. To take matters into your own hands and attempt arrest is an infraction. Not to mention the utilization of unnecessary force.”

She stood tall and firm as the lead Mageseeker stared her down. They both knew that her lecture was fruitless. Jarvan was far too soft and lenient with the Mageseekers, letting them run about the city arresting magic-users based on unproven accusations. The eradication of magic within Demacia’s walls wouldn’t bring his dear father back from the grave.

The lead Mageseeker gave her a slight nod of his head. “Understood, Lady Crownguard.” He gathered his men and turned to leave. Lux let out a slow breath. The woman had pulled the injured man into the shade. His wounds looked less inflamed, and his cuts were clean of dried blood. It would help slow infection, even if he lived in the slums.

Lux didn’t miss the woman’s sharp intake of breath as she knelt beside him. Her lip tugged into a small frown as she assessed the man’s missing eye, the cuts on his temple, and the bruises decorating his jaw and cheeks. His nose was spared from the Mageseeker’s brutality.

“I recommend you take him to the clinic. While his injuries are superficial, I’m sure it would alleviate any worry if he were given proper care and a bed to rest in.” She kept her voice even. Though she hated to admit it, showing sympathy to the wrong people could end with a knife to her throat.

“We cannot afford to stay a night.” The woman said, eyes trained on Lux’s face.

“The clinic is free to all Demacian citizens.”

The woman shook her head and dabbed at the man’s forehead with the bloodied cloth. “It was,” She sighed. “but not anymore. The clinic charges for overnight rest. Basic medicine and first aid are free, yes, but remaining overnight for more intensive treatment is expensive. My brother and I already work long hours on our farm, and now that he is this severely injured, my mother and I will have to take on his share of the labour.”

Lux clenched her jaw and stood up. “On behalf of Demacia, I apologize for the violence enacted against your brother.” The woman nodded at her, lips tightly pressed together. “However, I have to ask. What do you know of the accusations of magic made against him?”

“Not a thing. We’re labourers, Lady Crownguard. We do not have the penchant for such things as magic.”

“I see.” They smelled of dirt and wood and not much else. She knew by looking at them, observing how they walked, how they carried themselves, that neither had a magical bone in their body. Their eyes were lacklustre and only promised another day of toiling under the hot sun. The wind did not caress their hair, and the sun did not wrap around their shoulders. The elements were wholly indifferent to their existence.

Lux offered them a nod of gratitude. “I’ll see that the Prince hears of this.” She could not promise recompensation. She could only hope that Jarvan had the sensibility to act accordingly rather than let his desire for public approval misguide him.

In three days, she was to be shipped to Noxian-occupied Ionia. She had just enough time to mull over and compose a letter detailing today’s unfortunate events. Maybe she could get Garen to deliver it, seeing as Jarvan was adamant they keep communication business-related.

The remainder of her days in Demacia passed slowly. She had organized and reorganized her belongings to ensure nothing integral was left behind. The letter, and its subsequent drafts, sat on her writing desk, polished and penned with utmost care. The ship would dock during the night and open for passenger boarding in the morning. She’d have to sneak on during the night.

A servant delivered her letter to Garen. By the time he read, resealed, and placed it into Jarvan’s armoured hands, Lux was stowed away in the compartment storage. She held open her eyes and slid in her coloured contacts. She blinked to adjust to the new sensation of film over her eyes. The ship rocked over tumultuous waters. Lux peeked out the cargo window and saw nothing but blue seas and grey clouds. It would be a long trip to Ionia.

She busied herself with shadow boxing. Fighting Noxians was much easier if she could predict their strikes before their knives dug into her skin. The memory of cold steel jabbing into her neck and ripping open her throat made her stomach churn. She held onto a crate to steady herself. The dim lighting made it difficult to envisage her shadow as Katarina or LeBlanc, but she used the ship’s gentle swaying as momentum, flipping behind crates and landing without a sound, blocking invisible jabs, and rolling from thrown knives.

Her practice was as much physical as it was mental. Countless days spent in the bloody Institute left her with precise memories of Noxian fighting habits: how and where they teleported, favoured pressure points, how willingly they left allies to die upon being outmatched. Katarina had a temper. Cassiopeia loved to toy with her prey. Talon relished in his victim’s pain. Darius had the decency to make it quick but never clean. Draven laughed even in death.

Lux did pull-ups on the low metal beams and sit-ups by hooking her legs onto study crates and touching her toes. She was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She’d have to cloak herself and sneak up to the passenger’s area for a shower and a quick meal. Jarvan hadn’t bothered to purchase a ticket or inform the crew that they’d be transporting a spy. It would take days for a Demacian tourist ship to reach Ionia, but sneaking around wasn’t unusual for her.

Showers were quick and perfunctory. She swiped bread, roasted chicken breasts, and fruit from the mess hall while the kitchen was empty. Her days were mind-numbingly bland, but she kept herself sharp by recalling facts about Noxian wars, politics, and their slimy people. It was her mantra. She exercised her magic on an hourly basis, cloaking herself in woven strands of light, overflowing a lightbulb with too much charge, illuminating the dark, damp cargo hold, that she felt it course through her veins and expend through her fingertips more fluidly than before. Garen knew. She swore him to secrecy. Jarvan was left in the dark, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have her executed, but official decrees travel faster than hot rumours. She would no longer be looked upon as a venerable Crownguard. She’d be sneered at, spat on, persecuted against for honing an intrinsic talent vilified by the actions of a select few. Her brother could only shield her from so much. 

The ship arrived in Ionia’s southeast port during the early hours of the morning. Lux’s stomach ached with tension as she cloaked herself in light waves and hustled off the ship. She could feel nausea creeping up her throat as she hurried to find a covert place to extinguish her magic. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and while her features gave her away as Demacian, her new, brown eyes and monastic clothing would spare her from instant recognition.

Altering her voice and attitude was as easy as pie. She bought a map from a vendor and a couple of pastries from a bakery. Jarvan had instructed that she make her way to Noxian-Ionia immediately, but the ferry wouldn’t arrive for another few hours. She meandered around, making small talk with the locals to mimic their accents. From a scrollery, Lux bought rolls of parchment, a fine-tipped quill, and a well of ink. She answered in terse sentences and kept her voice low. The Luxanna Crownguard that everyone knew was bright, chipper, and had a voice that could shatter glass. It was who she wanted them to believe she was. For a long while, she even believed it herself.

When it came, she boarded the ferry and kept her head down. No-one bothered to make small talk with a woman dressed in labourer’s clothes. She tucked a strand of loose, blonde hair behind her ear and counted the minutes until Noxian troops came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Kumiko Shiba and the one (1) existing image of Diana/Lux that helped create this batshit journey. Stick around, folks. I appreciate any comments or feedback you'd like to share. This is gonna be a wild ride. 
> 
> https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1655431


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to BirdSpirit for beta-ing!

Sludge spilled into the sea from gaping sewage pipes. Lux covered her nose and mouth with a scarf and took measured breaths. The ferryman took all precautions to reassure his tourists that high sewage output meant high productivity. She didn’t see any red. 

When the ferry came to a stop, she was more than happy to hop off and scamper deeper into the city. She was ready for the smog pervading the air, the unease that came with turning a corner, and the incessant itch at the back of her neck, but nothing chilled her more than seeing a boy, no more than twelve, patrolling the streets with a crossbow strapped to his back, a wicked knife at his side, and the Noxian insignia plastered against his bicep.

Child soldiers were decidedly unDemacian. King Jarvan III said it himself. Enlisting children as fodder had to be a Noxian thing— only they could be so callous. She slipped into an alleyway to avoid the guards. Even during times of war, front-line soldiers were required to be sixteen years of age — old enough to comprehend the gravity of their sacrifice. Families of fallen soldiers received a Demacian emblem and a year’s worth of remuneration. While money couldn’t make up for lost memories, it helped to ease the labour. 

There were no hotels to reserve, but slumming it on the streets would result in a knife in her back should a curious guard rip off her hood. She wasn’t strong enough to channel her magic while unconscious. 

Grey clouds loomed on the horizon. Noxians weren’t kind enough to set up homeless shelters. Lux spotted a dilapidated building away from the bustle of the inner city as the cloud sprinkled sooty rain. It was a halfway house. She set her jaw as the matron walked her through the available rooms despite her insistence that addiction didn’t run through her family. According to the old matron, everyone was addicted to something. 

“Drugs. Caffeine. Sex. I’ve seen a fair share of strange fixations during my thirty-five years here.” She croaked. “One young man bumbled in through those front doors, eyes nearly popping through his skull. You know what his addiction was?” Lux didn’t care. “Something called brown-brown! He’d sniff it every day ‘til his face turned purple and his eyes nearly fell out.” 

Lux paid in-advance to shut the woman up. A halfway-home wasn’t her preferred form of residence, but it provided a good alibi. While Noxians might not care much for a sob story of a young farm girl with an inhalant addiction, Ionians would. 

Her room was towards the end of the hall. The walls were beige, and the ceiling had cracks and water stains. The window was intact but didn’t lock. Her door refused to shut all the way, and the bolt was rusted a deep red. She couldn’t budge it. It would be difficult to hide her reports if the window refused to lock, and the door refused to shut. It made a horrible squeaking noise when she opened it. 

She tucked the parchment under her bed, a dingy, old thing with a wireframe, and set her suitcase against the door. She had to tolerate daily visits from a shrink until they deemed her mentally sound and capable of autonomous living. She wasn’t interested in making merry with the other inhabitants. The stench of chewing tobacco, mildew, and smoke hung thick in the air and dulled her mind. 

Jarvan wouldn’t accept less than perfection. The fate of Demacia hung in the balance, and he firmly believed that sending her overseas was integral to restoring their lost honour. Demacia’s trepidation towards international trade and her aversion towards foreign cultures, aid, and assistance left them stranded in the plains. Lux sat on the bed, cringing as her weight sent up a cloud of dust, and began her report.

He would want to know of the poverty, the pollution, and the easily accessible halfway house. Just as the ferry docked at the pier, she had spied two brothels in the far distance, illuminated by red and hot pink neon lights, imported from Piltover. This colony was a military rest-point.

Lux looked up and stared at the cracks in the beige ceiling. If she was to do her duty to her country, then she would have to interact with the addicts. The matron had said little of their personalities or their addictions, but she spent an impressive amount of time advertising their rehabilitation services, cognitive and hypnotherapy, and group counselling. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a waste of her time to sit in. She wrote to him about the amenity restriction, and how each inhabitant required a minimum of ten visits from the on-site shrink before they were allowed to roam outside. It was like the Institute— withholding most, if not all, contact with the outside world until their time was up.

She hadn’t bothered to explain her alibi. She kept a close eye on the door and the shadows that loomed under the gap as she practiced cloaking her scrolls of parchment in strands of light. When she felt the familiar tightness in her chest and stomach, she stowed it away under her bed. Food would be delivered to her for the first ten days, the matron informed her during their tour. It was to ensure that some of the more rowdy, territorial inhabitants had time to adapt to a fresh face among familiar halls.

The food was standard Noxian cuisine with Ionian influence: tough beef braised with soy sauce and spices rather than red wine, grilled and bisected onion, a side of roasted chicken. It was too much meat. No wonder Noxians had an unpleasant odour about them.

The showers were unfortunately communal but open at all hours. A member of the cleaning staff came in to fetch her plate. Noxian allegiance wove itself into military gear and now the backs of cleaning uniforms.

The shrink was set to arrive in the morning. Lux laid on her bed until it was dark. The window was well-oiled. She slipped out and headed towards the brothels. She smelled the nauseating scent of tobacco, cigar smoke, and another drug she couldn’t place. It reminded her of Noxian sewage mixed with dried flowers. Prostitutes loitered outside the brothel’s entrance, enticing soldiers with lustful promises. She wrinkled her nose and pulled her scarf around her mouth.

Prostitution was illegal in Demacia. These women could have been arrested, fined, and tried for public solicitation. Thankfully, there was no bouncer to stem the flow of customers. Lux clamped down on her jaw as a woman dressed in nothing but black, lacy underwear stroked up and down her shoulder, cooing at her stiff posture.

She brought enough gold to get the bartender’s attention. The brothel’s interior was luxurious: soft, red walls, an immaculate performance stage with plenty of ceiling poles, private showrooms guarded by brawny men, and a stocked bar. The floors had no blood, grime, or mysterious stains.

Sitting on the tables furthest from the stage were strange, glass devices connected to a long hose. Men passed it between them, each taking a drag and spitting out a cloud of heady vapours. Their faces were flushed. Lux sat at the bar and perused the shelves of spirits, barrels of brewed beer, and colourful wines. It took some time for her mind to translate the names, having been hindered by the potent fumes. 

The bartender glared at her with thinly veiled impatience. She rubbed at her eyes, willing the fog to recede from her mind. The bartender placed a mug of golden mead in front of her. Lux felt someone slide onto the stool next to hers.

“I haven’t seen you before. First time?” It was the same prostitute as before. Lux kept her eyes trained on the bridge of her nose.

She cleared her throat. “I’m new to these parts. A family friend recommended this place.” The prostitute tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned forward. It took all her willpower not to lean back in disgust.

“Well, your friend was right. This place is as good as it gets for miles around. That other place just down the block— Killigan’s— doesn’t respect their workers the way we do.” Lux nursed her mug as the prostitute flashed her a dazzling smile. Her teeth were white. She was missing an incisor.

“So, what brings you here to these parts, sweetie?” The prostitute sipped her red wine. “To me?”

“Addiction.” She said and nearly laughed at the startled look that flashed across the prostitute’s face. She didn’t touch her mead.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be a slave to substances.” She smiled again, having recovered, and rested her hand on Lux’s knee. Lux released an even breath and tolerated the touch.

The prostitute smelled like tobacco spit and cheap perfume. Her eyes were bloodshot and pupils dilated. Her skin was pale white, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Noxian nights, especially this close to the ocean, were humid during the summer. Lux set her jaw when the hand crawled up her thigh.

“Let me see your hands.” The prostitute made a show of taking Lux’s hands in hers and tracing her fingers over calloused palms. Lux breathed in through her nose and out her mouth.

“You’re a labourer, aren’t you? I knew from the moment I saw you, but your hands prove it. They’re worth thin from years of hard work under the sun. Your clothing, too, tells me a lot about you. You want to blend in with the background, never seen, never heard. Ready to slip away whenever things get rough.” She smiled. “Am I right?”

“Correct.”

“I thought so.” She squeezed her upper thigh. “You looked so lost, like a little sheep separated from her flock.” The bartender was gone. Lux scanned the prostitute’s face and noticed a steady tick of her eyelid.

“Let me help.” She placed a hand on Lux’s shoulder, sweeping up to cup her face and rub at her cheek, protected by her scarf. “We can go out back. Nobody will think to bother us there.”

Lux felt multiple eyes staring daggers into her back. As deplorable as it was, following her out was her only chance at escape. She felt grimy as cold lips pressed against her cheek.

“Come along, then.” She wished that she wasn’t so insistent on holding her hand as they exited the brothel. The alleyway behind the brothel was narrow and illuminated by a hanging light. The prostitute relinquished her grip on Lux’s hand to lock the door behind them. 

Lux squinted, focusing on heated, copper wires. The lightbulb imploded and plunged them into darkness. She kept her breathing even and footsteps light as the prostitute screamed in fright. The halfway house wasn’t far away. She heard the door fly open and multiple pairs of feet stomp out. Gruff voices pierced the night.

She snuck back in through the window smelling of tobacco and spirits. There was no one at the communal washrooms. She thoroughly scrubbed herself and her clothes of grit and sin, pausing once to vomit in the toilet. She stared at herself in the foggy mirror and found, to her horror, that her pupils were dilated to the size of dinner plates, and the whites of her eyes were tinged red. She splashed her face with cold water, keeping her eyes open and ignoring the dull burning until she no longer saw the prostitute’s reflection in the mirror.

That woman was suffering from withdrawal. Her grip was too tight, her skin cold and clammy. She was too desperate to leave the brothel and indulge in sex with a stranger. Lux swallowed, squeezing her hands to stop them from shaking. She hadn’t bothered asking for the woman’s name. It would have humanized her. She dressed herself in a clean change of clothes and tiptoed back to her room. Sleep did not come easily.

*

Lux gave the shrink everything he asked for, yet he still prodded for more. She was careful to stick to her alibi, preferring to think over each question rather than blurt out a blunt answer. He had let himself in after breakfast and remained past lunchtime. Despite his benevolent demeanour, she did not enjoy the way his eyes locked onto hers after she gave a suitable answer, as if daring her to speak out and contradict herself. She kept herself calm, palms flat on her lap, legs crossed and still. The weight of Demacia rested on her shoulders. 

Her alibi was transparent enough. She was a young labourer named Raquel Maiveron who had a history of alcohol addiction. She checked herself in after a family friend’s concern that her mental state would deteriorate. This particular halfway house came highly recommended. Lux didn’t bother with extraneous details. The shrink licked at the nib of his pen and jotted a few notes into his journal. His scrawl was too messy for her to discern. 

“I applaud your willingness to recover.” He said. “Few embra ce the path of recovery so easily, and if your history with substance abuse is as severe as you claim, then you made the right decision in seeking help. Daily consumption of moonshine, you said?” 

She kept her eyebrows from furrowing. “Near daily, sir.” 

“Of course.” He closed his journal and tucked his pen into his coat pocket. “Well, you possess a high degree of cognitive awareness, self-awareness, and a healthy sense of self. It would be presumptuous of me to claim that you’re already better off than a majority of patients, but I see no reason to continue with the scheduled meetings. Let’s reduce it down to once a week; I’ll let the matron know of your status.” He stood, gathered his things, and nodded at her. Lux kept her hands in her lap and met his gaze, unwavering. 

It was a mistake to visit that brothel so early on. Multiple employees now knew she existed, and one got close enough to touch her. For the next couple weeks, Lux vowed to lie low and remain in the halfway-house until her face wasn’t fresh in anyone’s mind. They had a generous selection of books, both historical and contemporary, and the matron emphasized community bonding as an aid to recovery. 

She borrowed books that impounded on Ionian geography, culture, mercantilism, and history. Noxus was adamant to spread its governance across Runeterra in a fearsome show of its military strength, but what made them so hellbent on waging war against a peaceful nation? Ionia had few precious minerals. Its geographical location isolated it from the rest of Runeterra. Perhaps Noxian soldiers experienced perverse pleasure upon squashing agrarian societies too weak to fight back. She couldn’t imagine the sadistic thrill military generals got over quartering their troops in sacred temples or brute-forcing their way into modest homes. 

Further reports comprised facts derived from academic sources, first-person anecdotal evidence, and whatever else she could weasel out from the matron under the guise of foreigner ignorance. She included her detailed observations of certain patients and their addictions. An older man claimed to be a discharged Noxian officer. The matron confirmed it. Lux swiped the records late at night after everyone went to bed and copied the information onto a fresh sheet of parchment. He frequently boasted about his rank, battalion, and military decorations, but kept his mouth shut about the wars. 

He wore his guilt in the form of slouched shoulders, a permanent frown, and fidgety fingers. His eyes were always darting around, pupils shrunken with adrenaline. His medical file claimed that he was a morphine addict on his third recovery attempt. Notes from his shrink, written in messy shorthand, claimed that morphine addiction, along with alcoholism and narcotic abuse, were all too common among infantry and long-term soldiers. 

Imbibed with Noxian presence as it was, unfettered stimulants and narcotics made their way into the hands of sex workers and the pimps that owned them. Lux copied down the man’s name and crept through the quiet hallways, stowing the files back under the front desk. She didn’t dare risk her luck twice in one night. With less than a week remaining, she’d have to watch which words came out of her mouth. Nobody thought to question her persona, not when she adamantly refused any sugarcane juice because it tasted too much like mead, or when she wrinkled her nose at two stout men’s fond recollection of drinking contests. She had the shrink wrapped around her finger, never pressing troublesome questions and taking her answers for what they were. It felt nice to not have her motives questioned, even if he was a sucker for it. 

Rural Ionian farmers had a history of trading rice and wheat for opiates cultivated from Noxian sunset poppies. It made them docile. Noxian traders sold opiates by the decagram, raking in surplus wealth and bolstering their food stores. Though opiates were long since outlawed by Ionian officials, addiction remained, as did shady suppliers. It was difficult to expunge all traces of opiates from Ionian territory, much less from Ionian history, as the Noxian military held firm to what little territory they conquered.

As with magicka, drug peddling was outlawed in Demacia, and politicians vehemently denied all notions of narcotic abuse. As far as outsiders were concerned, Demacia was a squeaky-clean nation. Lux knew better. She knew of young men who held illegal Kumungu Jungle weeds under their tongue because they believed it bolstered their strength. Demacian politicians, both widely abhorred and venerated, abused a drug they called “Ceregrow”, a highly addictive Noxian stimulant, because it amplified their cognitive processing. Weakness, not innocent curiosity, brought drugs into Demacia. It was a cancer killing them from the inside.

Jarvan fixated his attention on the persecution of magic-users, turning a blind eye to everything else. He wasn’t the same person as the general who led his determined soldiers into battle against Noxian scum or the prince who held his chin high and demanded that Shyvana be treated with respect.

Lux finished her report of the night and fanned the ink with her hand. Despite the smog, the full moon shone brightly, accompanied by thousands of twinkling stars. The ferry didn’t run at night. She had less than a week remaining on her prepaid tab— the matron was incessant on reminding her— and the fledgling colony held little exploits. All it was, was a nest of drugs, prostitution, and poverty tied together with a military-grade chain. Unfortunately, it gave Swain a firm foothold.

Ionia would not accept Demacian troops even if Jarvan were bold enough to extend an olive branch. He despised their neutrality and isolation. He believed isolation made Ionia weak the same way it made Demacia strong. Lux slept fitfully through the night.

*

Her reports felt heavy in her backpack. She had little time to pack her things back into her suitcase before the cleaning crew came and scrubbed all traces of her away. She had already fed the matron a lie about her family desperately needing her help at home. It wouldn’t be right of me to stay, she said, when I know they’re taking on my share of the labour. She prohibited herself from feeling any guilt or shame when the matron embraced her and wished her the best. The matron grew fond of Raquel Maiveron, not Luxanna Crownguard.

She didn’t look back as she left the halfway house. The ferryman ushered passengers off with a strange look on his face, eyes glassy and mouth crooked. Lux handed him the standard fee and boarded. She crossed her legs and ignored the water seeping into her boots.

Mainland Ionia was much cleaner than the Noxian colony. Rather than industry pipes vomiting sewage into the ocean, there were large, open temples, busy marketplaces rife with smiling vendors, and expansive libraries containing thousands of books. While she wasn’t as versed in Ionian history as she would like, she knew that mages found solace within Ionia’s walls. They weren’t shamed, ostracized, or killed for their innate abilities. While far from perfect, Ionia was a land that pledged tolerance and forgiveness towards all.

Lux took a deep breath of air and held it in her lungs. Jarvan wanted strengths to overcome and weaknesses to exploit. She would give him war tactics, political history, current events— anything easily found in a book or two. No matter how badly he desired it, Ionia was not Demacia’s enemy.

After weeks of eating too-rich Noxian cuisine, the smell of airy pastries was more appealing than returning to Demacia. She had plenty of gold left after buying a pouch of almond cookies. The map she bargained from a vendor during her initial visit led her to a quaint inn managed by an elderly couple. Upon seeing her haggard form, they gave her a reduced price for the first three nights. Lux booked two weeks and flopped down on a clean bed, free of dust and mites.

She’d have to make a trip for more parchment and a new well of ink. There was so much to do, and with no one to breathe down her back, she could finally explore to her heart’s content. The knowledge sequestered away in Ionian libraries could deepen her understanding of the light magic she possessed. What Jarvan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

It wouldn’t be wise for her to hone her skills through practice. She was diligent in keeping her magic covert, but flashing lights, sudden rainbows, and glowing, floating orbs were bound to attract attention. Her reputation as a Demacian representative in the Institute of War preceded her; a curious bystander asking difficult questions would be enough to blow her cover. She’d never felt so thankful that battles fought in the Institute were never publicized. Its location was a mystery, but some individuals lived for the senseless violence and unrestrained bloodshed within its walls. Others participated out of financial need, or to bring glory and recognition to their nation. 

She hurried to a nearby temple dedicated to multiple Ionian deities associated with harmony and balance. There weren’t many tourists willing to walk under the hot, mid-morning sun. Lux left a donation and enjoyed the silence, a welcome change from the constant barking of Noxian patrols. Religion had its plac e in Demacia: secluded away in a corner of Demacia City, too far away for the elite to bother, but close enough for the lower class to visit and pray for prosperity. Polytheistic temples were unheard of. 

From sunrise to sunset, Lux sequestered herself in libraries and old bookstores, reading about Ionian geopolitics, history, philosophy, and the theory of light magic itself. Her head spun with the influx of new information. She included detailed information regarding the birth of magic, magical theory, branches of Ionian magic, and how they all preached harmony and tolerance, not destruction. Deep down, she knew it was naïve to believe that Jarvan would read her reports and change his mind about the destruction of magic within Demacian walls. Her words would not revive his dear father. 

She filled scrolls of parchment with names of historical mages, wanted outlaws, and how attitudes towards magic changed with time. She balanced her enthusiasm for magical knowledge with Ionian war strategies, stances on political refugees, the current state of aboriginal populations— information Jarvan wouldn’t be as quick to gloss over.

Her backpack, though crammed full of light parchment, dug into her shoulders. She felt dirty greeting the old woman and her husband with a smile and a respectful bow. Her anxieties lessened as she exercised in her room, going through the motions of tai-chi until her limbs refused to budge and her tank top stuck to her back with sweat. She told herself that Jarvan would not use her notes to further persecute magic-users. He would use them to help Demacia and her people, not divide them irrevocably. 

She had arranged a spot aboard a small tourist ship that roamed around Runeterra, specialized in taking vacationers to isolated lands. Ionia needed the income for reparations. Jarvan, initially reluctant at the idea of foreigners traversing through Demacia, relented once he saw the numbers. The trip back would take just over four days and deposit her in the western Demacian outskirts. On the night of her final day, Lux perused the night markets, purchasing translation guides for literature not written in Common, magical theory textbooks, and a few quartz crystal clusters. Late at night, she gave her final goodbyes to the kind elderly couple and boarded the ship, taking one last look at the peaceful scenery she had come to adore. 

Her chest felt tight with trepidation as Demacia’s gilded silhouette came into view. Jarvan would undoubtedly admonish her for her letter chastising the Mageseeker patrol’s brutality. She couldn’t predict how he would react upon seeing the souvenirs she brought with her. She’d have to stow them away in her room and make sure neither Garen nor the servants snooped around in her belongings. 

The Demacian outskirts had no means of mass transit or public transportation, being an agrarian society. It was a long trek from the rocky outskirts to the marble-paved streets of Demacia City. She knew she couldn’t cloak herself for that long without immense cramps and headaches. She tried her best not to rub at her eyes and nudge her contacts around. 

She arrived in Demacia City within the hour, bathed in sweat from the blistering sun and heavy backpack she carried with her. Jarvan wouldn’t accept her in such a state. The Crownguard estate was quiet save for the bustling of servants. She cloaked herself and tip-toed in. Garen wouldn’t be home until the late evening. She unwrapped her crystals with a gentle hand and set them on her windowsill to absorb sunlight. The books she bought joined the rest of her collection on her various bookshelves. She took a shower and changed out of her disguise, donning her usual uniform. 

Jarvan looked up from his study as she entered the throne room and bowed. They retreated to the strategy room, and Lux handed him the backpack of scrolls. He shook them out onto the heavy, mahogany desk. True to instruction, many of her entries regarding Noxian military presence were written backwards. He selected a scroll at random and skimmed through it, pausing to study an illustration she drew of Noxian ambush tactics. Wordlessly, he pulled open a drawer and dropped a manilla file in front of her. It landed on the desk with a hollow  _ thud _ . 

“I should apologize for sending you into the midst of Ionia,” Jarvan said. Lux took the folder and combed through the loose papers with her fingers. There was a chill in the air. “I misunderstood how deeply the Ionian desire for balance and tranquillity wormed.” He frowned and deep creases lined his forehead. “They are ignorant of the destructive power those mages possess and how easily they're persuaded to kill.” 

Lux chewed the inside of her cheek. “No apology necessary, Your Highness.” 

“Regardless, I thank you for your service to Demacia. To me. Without you, our military remains in the dark. You’ve done everyone a great service, despite the dangers. Demacia thanks you.” He nodded at her. She felt no pride upon receiving his praise. The manilla folder felt heavy in her hand. 

“As you can see, I did some research on my own while you were away.” He gestured for her to flip through it. “Ionia is home to plenty of temples, as I’m sure you noticed during your stay. It’s a religious hotspot, attracting tourists and worshipers from all over Runeterra.” He stared at her as she read through the contents. 

“How close are you to Leona?” He asked. Lux shook her head, keeping her voice even. 

“We’re acquaintances.” 

“Get closer.” She shut the folder and met his eyes. “I’m not fond of her magic, Luxanna, but use Leona as a stepping stone to your actual target.” He paused. “There are rumours of abandoned Lunari temples in Ionia. I’ve provided as much information regarding them as I could find, along with a few pages concerning Diana’s background and motivation.” 

Lux released a measured breath. She had no qualms against falsifying a friendship. Everyone fell victim to her bubbly personality, natural charisma, and never-ending positivity. She didn’t ask how Jarvan acquired Diana’s files. The less she knew, the better. 

“She’s a cultist, Luxanna, and it would behoove you to keep that in mind. No man should have the ability to command the moon-- or the sun-- to do his bidding. It’s unnatural.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” She said. She opened the folder, and a blurry picture of Diana stared back at her. She knew next to nothing about her, she realized as apprehension grew in her mind. They had never spoken before. 

“She temporarily resides in Ionia,” Jarvan said. “seeking to rebuild lost Lunari archives and destroyed temples. Because of this, the Institute does not classify her as an Ionian representative, but Noxian conquest threatens her, even if she remains apolitical. It would mean the annihilation of Lunari remains.”

Lux nodded her head. “Understood.” 

“Get close to her. Befriend her, make her think you’re genuinely interested in the Lunari religion-- anything to make her see that Noxus is the enemy. As much as I hate to say it, Demacia needs all the allies she can get. If she’s not with us, then she’s against us.” 

He sent her away with the manilla folder and an updated roster of her matches for the next five months. There were a lot of Ionian names. Jarvan wanted her capable of predicting and countering anything they threw her way. Diana’s name caught her eye every time it appeared on a dotted line. Leona’s, as well.

Lux had two weeks left to herself before the Institute sequestered her away and subjected her to endless nightmares, bloodshed, haunting cries of death, and desperate last breaths for five whole months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and thank you for sticking around. I've got this story all plotted out on paper-- it's just a matter of actually typing it. As always, I would very much appreciate any comments, questions, and constructive criticism you may have. 
> 
> See you soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a longer chapter this time
> 
> trigger warning: blood and gore ahead. This is a league fic, so it was only a matter of time. 
> 
> Many thanks to BirdSpirit for beta-reading and entertaining my bullfuckery

Lux spent a week locked in her room, meticulously translating the various magic tomes she brought back from Ionia. While her pace was slow, she uncovered knowledge about herself that was sure to horrify any Mageseeker.

Her body was a vessel for her light magic. It flowed through her, using her circulatory system as a conduit, from the bottoms of her feet to the top of her head and exiting through her fingertips. Ancient Ionian herbalists devised a chart that split the magic body into twelve main meridians, each corresponding to the five natural elements. Overexerting herself resulted in familiar migraines, nausea, and stomach pains. Neglecting her magic meant a foggy mind and weak circulation.

Her quartz crystals kept her in high spirits. She took to polishing them with a damp rag each time her mind stalled or her hands refused to work. They drank up the sunlight and beamed when Lux held them up to the sky for a closer look.

She spent the remainder of her time attempting to relax away the stress that accumulated in her shoulders and muscles. Garen visited her often, having heard of her mission from Jarvan, and they played cards. They never talked about her impending return to the Institute of War, or how, for once, he would follow in her footsteps. Garen didn’t ask about her mission. Lux wouldn’t tell him anything, even if he peppered her with nosy questions.

“You’re bleeding, Garen. I’m all in,” she said without looking up from her dealt hand. He pulled his cards up closer to his chest, shuffling them to ensure she wouldn’t remember the order.

Poker was one of her favourite games to play. It required her to think ahead of her opponents, watch every minute twitch of their face and listen to the subtle inflections of their voice. She was an expert at bluffing. Garen was a fool to play against her, but wise enough to bet poker chips instead of money or favours. He had a flimsy poker-face.

He sighed and set down his hand, “I fold.” A seven, three tens, and an Ace. Lux smirked and scooped the piles of chips to her side of the table. She flashed her hand and laughed as Garen’s world came tumbling down. A two, a three, a five, a seven, and a nine.

The letter “inviting” her back to the Institute was delivered two days ago, written in bloody red ink. All she needed to do was pry free the glass marble embedded within the letter and crush it underfoot. She’d be whisked away with none of her belongings.

Garen rubbed his face with his paw of a hand. Lux grinned and made a show of counting each chip to rub salt in his wounds.

“Care to go once more?” she asked. “I’ll give you back some chips for bargaining.” 

He shook his head, suddenly fearful of the manic gleam in her eyes, “I think I’ve had enough poker for one night, Lux.” He pushed himself off the floor and kissed her forehead, “I’m due for wall patrol tonight, unfortunately.” She sat with her legs crossed, watching him don the pieces of his guard uniform. 

“Have you reviewed your matches?” he asked. She nodded, lips pressed together. Jarvan had taken the reins and placed her in matches with people she’d never met. It was for her own good, he and Garen would say, and it would behoove her to fight with and against unfamiliar entities. 

“Then I’ll be seeing you soon. I’m set to arrive two weeks after you,” he smiled, though it appeared as more of a pained grimace. They always arrived at and left the Institute together, but now Jarvan needed guard support in Demacia and a pair of eyes at the Institute. 

Lux nodded and embraced him, fitting her arms halfway around his bulky uniform. He patted her back, and they stood in comfortable silence until the evening bells chimed twice, signalling the guard rotation. She heard Garen sigh and knew he didn’t have the heart to peel her away. They’d punish him if he were tardy. 

She let go and felt a pang in her heart as he left to fill his post. She was thankful that Garen was determined to stand by her. Life would be much harder if he put duty before family. She’d truly be alone. 

There was nothing for her to pack — all she needed was her wit and the clothes on her back. The letter sat on her worktable, folded shut and ignored. She took it and gave the honeyed invitation a cursory glance before plucking the gilded marble from its paper restraints. She rolled it in her fingers. The golden filigree pattern was smooth against the pads of her fingers. She dropped the marble on the floor and stomped on it. 

There were no theatrics. Lux braced herself but couldn’t stop the lurching of her stomach as the Institute of War flew into existence, dragging her body with it. She caught herself on her hands, wincing at the loose gravel that dug into her palms, and got to her feet. While the pearly-white bricks, mosaic windows, and high arches were an unfamiliar sight, she was more than well-acquainted with the gravel path and dark grass surrounding the building, regardless of whichever form the Institute took on. This time, it happened to fancy a modern look rather than the usual decrepit, stone castle. 

The skies were a heavy blue. No wind rustled the bushes or caressed the trees. Time did not seem to flow. She was trapped in a liminal space; her only choice was to walk forward and slip on her bubbly facade. The door was heavy, and when she pried it open, a wave of warm air and the familiar sight of long carpets, dark hallways, and utter silence greeted her. 

She stepped inside. The door shut behind her, and the lights flickered on. Lux looked around for any signs of life, rubbing her clammy palms against her pants. No one lived in the Institute aside from the champions, but she always felt the sting of surveillance on the back of her neck. There may as well have been ghosts residing within towering, white walls. The Institute wasn’t always this phlegmatic. In her eyes, it adopted an aloof persona to maintain complete neutrality once Noxian armies intensified their expansion. Nothing controlled it; it was indomitable. 

From the foyer, she proceeded to the Demacian wing, punctuated by banners of royal blue and gold. An unknown force kept champions separate to ease tensions. She could not walk into the Ionian wing without explicit invitation, and she could rest easy at night knowing Katarina’s daggers couldn’t penetrate invisible barriers and embed themselves in her jugular. She didn’t encounter a soul as she continued down the hallway. The lights dimmed as she walked past, not of her doing. The Institute’s walls restricted her magic. 

The entryway reacted to her touch. She heard the magical locks release as she gripped the doorknob and twisted. Her room was exactly how she remembered it, from her messy, unmade bed to the pile of books stuffed haphazardly onto her many shelves. She opened the curtains and took a deep breath, staring out into the courtyard. The moon was full and bright. 

She had two matches tomorrow: one in the morning and the other in the late evening. The rest of her time was hers to do with as she pleased. There was a bound parcel sitting on her table. She unwrapped it with deft fingers and turned on the lamp to illuminate her dark room. It was Diana’s file. She sucked her teeth and flipped through the contents. Her stomach twisted itself into knots. The Institute must have tapped into her subconscious during transport and materialized the folder when she arrived. It wasn’t a crime to possess other champions’ files, but it wouldn’t put her in a good light if anyone snooped in her room and found it. 

Jarvan’s research was shallow, relying on Ionian eyewitness accounts and baseless rumours. She could’ve gotten the same information out of Leona with enough time and perseverance. She found it odd that she rarely saw the two together. Rumours spread like wildfire but were doused by fresh blood. Lux collapsed onto her bed, halfheartedly looking through pages of monochrome close-ups of abandoned Lunari temples and weathered artifacts. 

She must’ve fallen asleep during her study; when she opened her eyes, sunlight shone through her drawn curtains. Her stomach growled. She had a few hours to waste before her first match, and she knew for a fact that the cafeteria was sparsely populated during the early mornings. On the other side of her door, she heard soft voices converse. They were too quiet to distinguish, but Lux organized Diana’s folder and hid it away under her pillow. She made her bed and showered. By the time she was done, she smelled like engineered soap rather than Demacian carnations.

The main foyer and long hallways were empty. The cafeteria was north of the lobby. Lux locked her door behind her and prayed that the peaceful silence would last. The foyer was illuminated by soft, blue lights that cast dark shadows in the corner, creating an everlasting eventide illusion. If the sun hadn’t peaked through her curtains, it would’ve been difficult to tell the time. On her way to the cafeteria, she passed the Demacian training hall, made prominent by the door’s gilded Demacian sigil, and heard the distinct sound of crossbows firing leaded arrows into training dummies. She hurried away before the door could slide open and expose her gawking. 

As she hoped, the cafeteria was empty save for a few people that lingered to converse. Heated metal containers kept long dishes of food warm while low-hanging lamps made the dishes seem all-the-more appetizing. In her four years of mandatory participation, she saw no cooks, servants, or maids. Everything in the Institute was fuelled by magic — an older, more powerful art than the light magic flowing through her veins. 

Lux carried her plate of eggs and soldiers and sat near the exit. She watched Caitlyn and Vi converse while dipping her toast into runny egg yolks. They talked of trivial things; there was no point in reading their lips. She finished her breakfast, watching with apathy as her empty plate dematerialized, and returned to her room. She had every intention to grab a few more hours of rest before the bloodshed. 

Her brain did not let her rest. Lux smushed her pillow on her head and willed her heart to slow. She had made the mistake of peaking at her match roster under the guise of preparing herself mentally. Many of her matches had been scrambled. Her roster updated itself accordingly and left her staring at new allies and enemies. Jarvan would be annoyed if he found out that the Institute voided his selections. She blinked and studied her updated roster, making note of the names that were switched around and the few that were left alone. In the next five months, she was to participate in eighty-five matches. 

Her clock chirped. Lux rubbed at her eyes and pulled herself from her bed before the urge to collapse became unbearable. If she didn’t report to the transport pad, the Institute would materialize her body within the Fields of Justice, disoriented and unprepared. Willingly walking herself down would guarantee a moment of reflective silence to allow her to prepare her mind for whatever terrain the Institute may throw at her. 

The transportation pads were located in a secluded area in the Institute’s right wing, far away from the Demacian dorms. The room was cold and covered in dull, grey metal. Light blue lights lined the floors and illuminated the hexagonal, glass pod connecting floor to ceiling. It swung open as she neared it, and the air inside chilled her to the bone. Her match was set to begin at ten o’clock sharp. As if reading her thoughts, the Institute broadcasted the time onto the wall in a soft, blue light. She had three minutes to spare. 

Lux stepped into the pod, clenching her fists as the door swung closed. Despite the low temperature, her hands were hot and clammy. She breathed out a sigh, pressing her head against the cold, glass wall, and forcibly cleared her mind of any worries. All that mattered was the match and the payout she’d donate to the Demacian homeless once she was sent back. She gave her blood and sweat to the Institute in exchange for coins to give the needy and rations for the underprivileged. It was as fair of a trade as there ever was. 

If the pod was cold, perhaps she’d be dropped into an arctic tundra. The Institute never gave out hints as to what terrain it would generate. The temperature was likely a coincidence. Her breath fogged up the glass. She drew a smiley face in an attempt to lift her spirits. Jarvan was in Demacia; he had no way of spectating and discovering her magic. Luckily for her, she was the only Demacian in the match. She breathed in, and then out, resigned to her fate. The first match upon returning was always the most difficult. 

Her body felt weightless, and Lux squeezed her eyes shut as a bright light engulfed her. Her stomach felt like it was climbing into her chest. The rushing river and gently chirping birds made her blink open her eyes in surprise. A forest environment was generous. Her last match seven months ago left her stranded in an arid desert. Her baton was a familiar weight in her hand, and she gripped it as her eyes scanned the environment. She was in a forest clearing with thickets all around. Right in front of her lay a cobblestone pathway. A flock of birds croaked, disturbing the serenity, and shot off into the air. Lux tensed, and the tip of her baton glowed with magic. 

Find and destroy the red turrets. She breathed in, composing herself. Afterwards, find the nexus and destroy that, too. Try not to die. None of this was new to her. She took off at a light jog down the cobblestone pathway, listening for rustling bushes, erratic footsteps, or the crackling of broken branches. None of her allies were nearby; her mind was still her own. 

The sun gleamed off the mossy pavement. Just ahead was a stone rook, over five meters tall, with dark green vines clinging onto the sides. A gargoyle perched atop its castle, stagnant and stalwart. The rook hummed with a gentle, blue light when Lux placed her hand on its side, stopping to catch her breath. The turret showed no sign of destruction. She thought back to her roster and tried to remember who her opponents were. 

Hushed Ionian curses caught her attention. Lux clenched her jaw and dug her heels into the ground, channelling streams of light magic through her fingertips into the tip of her baton. It hummed with power, and her arms shook with strain as the bulb grew in intensity. She heard a wolf’s howl echo across the forest, sending more birds into fearful flight. A branch snapped. In the back of her mind, she felt two consciousnesses meld into hers. Her heart rate skyrocketed as her side exploded with pain. It felt like a dull, jagged knife sunk into her flesh and tore itself out. It left her gritting her teeth in agony. There was no blood, Lux told herself, but she freed a hand to press against her side. Vibrant, green fire burned away the surrounding flora. Karma stumbled out, a cut on her forehead oozing blood into her eyes, supporting a pallid Irelia on her shoulder. She lowered her onto the ground. Lux lowered her baton and steadied herself as her magic rushed back through her. 

Irelia’s side was ripped open. Karma gave her a terse nod, lips pressed together, as Lux knelt to examine Irelia’s wound. Five deep gashes tore their way across her stomach, shredding cloth, skin, and muscle. 

“Damn him!” Irelia spat a bloody gob onto the ground. Lux focused on staunching the flow of blood. Try as she might, she couldn’t knit together flesh as she could with light. 

“Have you met anyone else?” Karma tore her gaze away from the thicket and studied her with glowing eyes. Lux shook her head. 

“No one,” she said, “but I heard Warwick howl.” Irelia’s blades spun in the air, slicing unseen enemies to shreds. 

“Warwick and Rengar,” Karma licked her lips. “I could not sense them. We thought we were safe in the bottommost path, so we destroyed a red rook. Within seconds, they were upon us. We slew Rengar and got away, but nothing comes without sacrifice.” 

Irelia pushed herself up into a sitting position, gasping. Lux paled at the fresh wave of pain that washed over her. The Institute linked their minds together, allowing allies to find each other over short distances. To force empathy between rival city-states, pain was shared between allies once a somatic link was established. Karma tutted, though Lux could see the way her mouth pulled into a grimace, and pushed Irelia back down. 

Another howl. Green fire engulfed Karma’s hands. Over the hiss of fire, Lux heard heavy paws pounding against the earth and cringed at the unmistakable smell of blood-soaked fur. Warwick, fur matted with blood, mud, and splinters, burst through the treeline and into the clearing, maw curled into a dripping snarl. Irelia blinked her eyes, desperately clearing away the ever-growing fog. Lux stood beside Karma, bloodied hands gripping onto her baton, as Warwick howled and lunged forward. The gargoyle creaked to life, eyes flashing a bright blue, and lobbed sharpened stones at Warwick’s form. He snarled as rocks pelted him from above and picked up a boulder slab. Lux gawked as he heaved it from the ground and, with a gruff growl, flung it through the air. The gargoyle shattered as the boulder crashed into the tower. It shuddered under the heavy weight and toppled to the ground. 

Warwick closed the gap between them in two bounds, filthy claws swiping at the air. Karma knocked him back with a blast of green fire aimed at his hulking chest. He staggered on his feet, but his sheer size grounded him. Lux barely had enough time to twist her baton and weave a bubble of light large enough to encompass them. Warwick’s metal claws slashed against her barrier. With each blow, she saw tiny cracks spiderweb out. He growled and brought both his arms up. Karma’s eyes flashed a bright green, and the fire encircling her wrists intensified to a raging inferno. Close as she was to her, the fire did not scorch her. The barrier fell, and Warwick slashed downwards. 

The tips of his claws grazed against Karma’s cheek, leaving gashes that welled up with blood, just as the fire erupted and threw him back. His back thudded against an oak tree, shaking it. Lux charged her baton with magic and shot a ring of blinding light just as Warwick snapped open his eyes and leapt. Her binding hit him directly in the chest and wrapped around the tree, restraining him for the moment. Karma panted as her eyes returned to normal. 

The tip of her baton shimmered as she focused her energy into a condensed stream. Lux closed her eyes and felt the world around her bend as she sapped colour from the nearby flora. She heard Karma gasp as the baton burned red. She snapped open her eyes at the wet squelch of metal embedding in flesh and Warwick’s pained cry before it faded to silence. She lost her concentration, and her baton clattered lifelessly to the ground. 

Irelia had sat up, the front of her armour red and sticky with blood, and commanded her blades to strike. Her hair stuck to her forehead, damp with perspiration from pain and effort, and Lux saw the light leave her eyes before she heard the clatter of blades hitting the ground. Irelia was gone. The pain in her side vanished, leaving only a mild headache. Karma sucked in a breath and knelt by Irelia’s side, closing her eyes and murmuring a prayer before her body disappeared. Warwick’s body was gone. The only evidence of his existence and timely death were the clumps of singed fur, still smoking, and small puddles of spilled blood. 

“Quickly,” Karma said after a moment of contemplative silence, “we should aim to destroy another tower before Warwick resurrects. It’s only a matter of time before Rengar resumes his hunt. He’s already got our scent.” 

They followed the cobblestone path until they encountered a tower, home to an equally stony-faced gargoyle, that shimmered with a red aura. The stone creaked as they approached. Lux readied her baton at the same time Karma spun her arms in a wide arc, summoning a barrier of spirit energy. The gargoyle’s wings snapped to life, and it lifted its head, sending loose pebbles and shards of stone to the ground. It screeched at them, a low and vibrational sound. Its fingers popped as it pelted them with sharp stones. The rocks bounced harmlessly off Karma’s shield. Lux focused on siphoning the surrounding colours into a compressed stream and channelling it through her baton. The metal grew hot, and through her closed eyelids, she could see the bulb shine brighter than the sun. It flashed once, twice, and unleashed a blinding beam of furious light. The gargoyle cracked and splintered into chunks of rock. The tower shook and toppled to the ground. Lux let out an undignified groan as her head throbbed with pain. 

Karma rested her hand on her shoulder and helped her up. Lux felt the hum of magic course through Karma’s hand and into her body. It was a foreign sensation, nothing like the energizing currents of light magic that travelled through her. Her headache lessened, and by the time the adrenaline of battle left her body, she felt as right as rain. She offered Karma a grateful smile, trying not to eye the gashes embedded in her cheek. They were shallow, but Warwick’s brutality and jagged claws caused copious blood loss. She didn’t want to think of what might happen if she was too slow or if her light barrier was too weak to sustain the brunt of his heavy attacks. She wouldn’t wish that fate on her worst enemy. 

They needed to destroy two more towers before the Nexus would reveal itself. With Irelia gone, they stood little chance against brute assassins. Shields and bindings could only keep them at bay for so long. Lux bit down on her lip to stifle a scream as her arm exploded in pain. She barely registered the panic that washed over her or the fire that encircled Karma’s wrists. Her arm was free of wounds, and the panic wasn’t her own. 

“There,” Karma’s eyes flared with green light as she pointed into the thicket. Lux strained her ears but heard nothing over the rushing river. 

Her arm throbbed. She grit her teeth and followed Karma through the thicket, dodging intrusive vines and low-hanging branches. The pain was an illusion. Nearby cries of battle and the surge of magic energy in the air made her hold her breath and crouch behind a wall of briar thicket. From the corner of her eye, she saw Karma tense. Cackling laughter echoed across the field. Lux saw the clear skies open up and rain dozens of purple stars into the ground. The tremors reached her just as a sharp _clang_ of metal against metal silenced all obnoxious laughter. 

Karma moved before she did, her green fire spreading over her hands and merging into a tight sphere. It hovered in the middle of her palms, spinning and shifting like liquid marble. Lux got to her feet just as Karma sprinted towards the commotion, her ball of condensed spirit energy now orbiting her waist. She ran after her, baton at the ready, just as battle cries turned into screams of anguish. An unseen force bludgeoned her across the temple, sending her tumbling to the ground. Lux lifted her hand to her temple, feeling skin wet with sweat and the gritty dirt that clung to her hair. No blood. Her head throbbed in conjunction with her arm. There was a flash of green and the deep echo of Ionian mantras.

The pain wasn’t easy to ignore, but Lux sucked in a breath and willed herself to focus. The tip of her baton shone brightly as she ran towards the violence. A dull jab forced itself into her side. She could hear Karma chanting incantations and sped up her pace, watching helplessly as Wukong’s golden staff smashed against Soraka’s skull. Forlorn clouds covered the sky and drizzled a light rain as Soraka collapsed to the ground, her staff tumbling out of her hand. 

Lux moved on instinct, diving in front of a downed Master Yi and swinging her baton, flooding the surrounding area with bright light. Yi’s helmet was dented and the eyeglass cracked. Wukong’s staff bounced off her barrier, but the strength of his blow caused her to falter. It flickered as it absorbed the weight of his strike. Wukong’s eyes gleamed with pride at the sight of Yi, downed and useless. Karma was gone, but Lux felt no additional pain. She was still alive. 

She saw Yi’s fist close imperceptibly around the hilt of his sword just as Wukong lept high into the air and brought down his staff. Lux had no choice but to shatter the barrier and dive out of the way. She sprang back as the tip of Wukong’s staff missed her legs by a hair’s width.

His weapon embedded itself in the ground, sending a wave of loose dirt and pebbles into the air. She had less than a second to act. Lux levelled her baton and overflowed the bulb with magic. The current imploded, sending blinding rays of light and heat into the air. Wukong screeched, releasing his staff to rub at his burning eyes. He stumbled back as Lux fell to her knees in exhaustion. A splatter of hot blood coated the dirt as Yi’s blade found its mark in Wukong’s chest. He lowered his body to the ground, sliding his sword out from his chest. Lux forced herself to look away. She had no right to infringe upon a master and disciple’s tender moment.

Yi cleaned his sword by jamming it in the ground and pulling it out. He said nothing as Wukong’s body disappeared but gave her a terse nod. The magical discharge suffocated the air. He wrinkled his nose and adjusted what was left of his goggles. 

“Karma and Syndra went north,” he said, sheathing his sword. “I did not expect to find a Demacian in an Ionian match.” 

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” she kept her eyes trained ahead. Tiny, almost imperceptible wisps of magic floated through the air. They beckoned her to follow. “The Institute scrambled my roster at the last minute. I’m just as surprised as you are.” He had no reason to doubt her. 

Lux led the way, following the residual wisps of magic to a clearing blackened by fire and dark matter. What few trees survived the battle were reduced to charred stumps. The grass still smoked. Yi frowned as the wind picked up and the rain pelted them harder. He unsheathed his blade as lightning rolled across grey clouds. The smell of rainwater mixing with charred flora was acrid. She wiped water from her eyes just as a three-note chime echoed across the field. In the far north, she spotted a beam of red light shoot into the sky. She didn’t have time to smile or relish the relief that washed over her before she heard a cry of pain. 

Lux choked as white-hot agony erupted in her chest and sliced across her neck. She sucked in deep breaths of air as her hand instinctively went to plug her wounds. She looked down. Her blood wasn’t splattered against the forest floor. Syndra’s cackle rang in her ears. Yi spat onto the ground and charged into the fray. Lux arrived just in time to see Karma’s body, lacerated and weeping blood, vanish in an eruption of green fire. Syndra floated above them, spheres of dark matter orbiting around her form and bending reality. Rengar snarled at them, half his face charred by Karma’s fire. Behind them, a red tower lay in pieces. 

Rengar bared his teeth. Lux knew she wouldn’t have time to charge her baton to its fullest capacity. He moved faster than lightning, intercepting Yi’s charge with a thrown net. She felt the burn of dark matter and flipped out of the way. Syndra’s magic carved out a singed crater where she just stood. Lux swallowed the lump in her throat as Syndra floated higher into the air, taunting her with a wagging finger, and siphoned her residual magic from the air, condensing it into black spheres. With a flick of her hand, she launched her dark matter across the clearing. Lux was forced to dive behind a splintered tree trunk, ducking under another wave of corrupted energy. It ate through her armour like acid, leaving a smouldering hole where her shoulder pad should’ve been. 

She hopped up just as Syndra landed, sending a bundle of light speeding towards her chest. It hit her square in the shoulders, and the fibres wrapped around her arms. It held for a second. Syndra’s eyes flashed purple as her magic absorbed her restraints, growing in intensity while freeing her arms. Lux’s eyes widened as Syndra flashed her a cruel grin. Her chest exploded with fiery pain as a black orb crashed into her, tossing her away like a rag doll. She spat out a globule of blood as she landed on her back. It hurt to roll onto her side. She grabbed for her baton as Syndra’s shadow drifted over her body. 

Lux heard her click her tongue as she feebly wove a barrier of light around herself. The front of her armour was gone, leaving charred cloth and the pungent smell of burning skin. It took considerable effort to keep her concentration. Her head pounded with exertion as she funnelled what little magic she could channel into her baton. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. Syndra’s presence weakened her barrier. It dimmed drastically as she cupped her hands and summoned a dark sphere, crackling with energy. The centre vortex was blacker than the darkest night and seemed to feed off her diminishing light. 

She held her breath, and with one final mental push, overflowed her baton. Her eyes snapped open just as a wide beam of light shot out from the bulb of her baton and engulfed Syndra in never-ending daylight. A dark orb rushed through her beam. The wet crack of her skull echoed for miles. 

Lux felt weightless as she pushed herself off the ground and looked around. She couldn’t feel Yi’s presence in the back of her mind, nor could she feel pain from her phantom injuries. She swallowed, staring down at her body. It never got easier. Her head was dented, the front of her skull cracked open by Syndra’s condensed dark matter. Red bits of her cranium had been blown off, exposing her pink brain. The veins that wrapped the cortex were rupted and wept sticky blood down her temple. Syndra’s magic had burnt off a good chunk of her hair and singed her scalp. Her eyes were open and glassy. Blood trickled from her askew mouth and down her cheek, pooling on the grass below. It unnerved her to see herself like this, even if it was temporary. 

Lux didn’t react as Irelia, face distorted in a grimace, burst through the thicket, effortlessly dodging and reflecting Syndra’s magic with her blades. She licked her lips. Dark matter could not absorb spirit energy the same way it fed off her light. Seeing Irelia slash Syndra’s throat sent a wave of nausea through her. She glanced back to her body just as it faded away in a spectacle of light. 

Within seconds, she was back at her original clearing, far away from the fight. Nothing hurt, and she felt no external consciousnesses tap into her brain. She was alone. The lack of trees made it easy to spot the red beam shooting into the sky. She could end the match with no more violence. In Demacia, violence was always the last resort. To kill another was to give up your humanity. She tried not to think about Demacian morality as she followed the cobblestone path north, cloaking herself whenever she heard the rustling of trees. 

She toppled another tower with ease. The path curved to the right, leading down into a muddy riverbank rife with beached algae and cattails. Lux kept to the riverbank to avoid splashing in the water and drawing attention to herself. She heard enraged snarling. In front of her, the muddy water mixed with green, viscous liquid. It was too bright to be sewage. It floated toward her, wilting any blooming cattails in its way. She didn’t dare dip a finger in it; it smelled putrid and rotten, like garbage baking under the hot sun. 

A guttural howl caught her attention and sent her sprinting towards the source of the green sludge. She didn’t have to travel far; Warwick slashed tirelessly at an eldritch beast with an elongated neck, protruding mandibles, and several sets of heavy, purple tentacles. Its attention wasn’t focused on her, but on the beast hacking away at its body. Warwick sliced at its tentacles whenever one drifted too close. The beast was imprisoned in a pit with high, rocky walls surrounding its body. Lux ducked into the shrubbery just as it stretched its neck downwards to snap at Warwick. The walls grew with it, extending far into the sky. Warwick howled as it neared and raked his claws down one of the beast’s many eyes. It jerked back, roaring, and Warwick leapt into the air, clinging to its face and jabbing at its two main eyes. Green blood oozed from its lacerations.

Lux cringed and bit her lip as the monster thrashed its head in pain. Its neck sprouted two auxiliary heads, each equipped with a mouth full of jagged teeth, as Warwick slashed away at any unprotected flesh he could reach. She readied her baton, inching out of the weeds, and aimed the bulb at Warwick’s body. It would be hard to hit him from this distance, but all she needed was a distraction. Something to stun him momentarily. The beast would finish him off. 

She got to her knees and pushed off her ground, taking a deep breath and concentrating on the flow of light as she siphoned it from the flora around her and channelled it through the baton. The magic resisted her, and the back of her neck grew hot with frustration. It felt like she was trying to funnel the ocean through a tube the size of a pinprick. The creature’s horrible existence tampered with magic’s natural flow. The bulb flashed once, twice, and Lux relinquished her control. A beam of light, reflecting every colour of the rainbow, shot out from her baton and engulfed the creature’s pit in a radiant blast. She heard Warwick yelp as the light singed his fur. She covered her eyes with her arm as the water reflected the diminishing magic. There was a loud splash. Lux cracked open her eyes to see Warwick laying in the murky pool, belly exposed to the air. The creature, face lacerated and missing three eyes, split open its jaw and dove down. 

Warwick’s gravelly cries of agony followed her as she ran back to the cobblestone path and headed towards the red nexus. It was necessary to kill him. Lux released a lengthy breath. If he killed that eldritch beast, it would’ve been disastrous for everyone; Warwick would’ve been unstoppable. A necessary death didn’t make her bloodthirsty like those Noxian assassins. She would never be like them. 

The nexus was close; she could feel the steady pulsations as it released healing currents into the air. It was abnormally quiet. Lux felt a shiver go up her spine. She crept out from the safety of the thicket. There it was: red, open and exposed, surrounded by chiselled stone structures and green vines. It emitted a low hum as the red crystal spun in mid-air. She found it odd that there was no one here to guard it. Perhaps they were all dead. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she whirled around, baton in hand. There was no one around her. 

“Such a vibrant ruby colour. It pulsates almost like a heart.” The nexus chimed as Xin Zhao stepped out from behind a tall, stone pillar, its red aura rolling off his heavy armour. She knew she wouldn’t be able to kill him. 

“And here I thought I was the only Demacian!” she chuckled. “I guess both our rosters got scrambled.” Xin Zhao remained stony-faced as she twirled her baton in front of her. 

“Though I have pledged my life to protecting the Lightshield family name, I cannot deny my roots. Ionia was my birthplace. Demacia has welcomed me with open arms, but its marble walls differ greatly from the peaceful society that coexists with the untamed Ionian wilderness. It can be stifling to live in a country built on a petricite formation.” 

Lux chewed her lip at the mention of petricite. They circled each other. She hoped she wouldn’t have to kill him. He brandished his spear whenever she took a cautionary step forward. She knew that he didn’t want to kill her, either. 

“What was it like growing up in Ionia, surrounded by magic?” she inched backwards. His tight guard allowed for no openings. 

“Peaceful,” he said. “Relaxing. Strenuous, at times. My family was poor, and I worked at a fishing dock to help provide for them.” He stepped forward and swung his spear in a wide arc, nearly catching her in the shoulder. Lux lept backwards and rolled to the side. 

“You could feel the magic in the air,” he grunted, closing the distance between them, “especially in the rural areas where man and nature lived in harmony.” He corralled her away from the nexus, and she sprang to the left to avoid a series of quick jabs. 

“Unlike in Demacia,” she said, staying on the defensive and watching the positioning of his feet and the subtle tenses of his facial muscles, “where magic is outlawed.” He swiped up. Lux spun to the right, closer to the nexus.

“My loyalty remains with Jarvan, regardless of what legislation may pass. It doesn’t matter whether I agree, Lady Crownguard. I am bound by honour to defend him with my life.” 

Her heart rate spiked as he charged forward with a yell, swinging his spear overhead and bringing it down onto her leg. He was stronger than her; blocking with her baton would shatter it. She jumped back, and the bladed end of his spear crashed into the ground. It wouldn’t be wise for her to use magic around him; he was Jarvan’s close friend and confidant. Lux swung her first, wincing as her knuckles popped as it connected against his jaw. Flimsy as her punch was, it caught him off guard. 

She stumbled back and threw her baton at the nexus just as Xin Zhao’s spear pierced her stomach. She looked down, feeling no pain, but saw her blood soak into her armour. Xin Zhao gaped at her as her fingers grabbed weakly at the metal shaft. The initial surprise wore off, and the pain wracked her body in waves. She couldn’t breathe, and any attempts to suck in air caused another ripple of pain. Her heart pounded as Xin Zhao lowered her to the ground, taking great care to not jostle the spear embedded in her midsection. 

“When I was a boy, my mom told me stories of a magical tree that grew on the moon and the immortal woodcutter tasked with chopping it,” he spoke softly as he sat down beside her. Lux flicked her eyes to her left. Her baton lay far away, having cracked the ruby nexus. She couldn’t reach for it if she tried. Her strength ebbed, and her mouth tasted metallic.

“In retrospect,” he said, “she likely told me that story so I would collect firewood with enthusiasm, but ancient folktales happen to strengthen Ionia’s magic. At night, I saw animals glow with bright light, foxes turn into beautiful women, and tall trees bend to shelter mice from the rain. An immortal woodcutter living on the moon doesn’t seem so unlikely.” 

She stood up, observing the man with a renewed interest. Xin Zhao sighed and closed her eyes, murmuring an apology too faint to hear. He didn’t yank his spear out from her stomach as Irelia and Yi crashed through the thick wall of vines and bramble. Irelia faltered at the sight of Lux’s body, pale, skewered, and freshly bleeding, before launching her blades into the nexus. It shook with strain as Irelia’s blades lodged hilt-deep in the crystal. Xin Zhao stood and raised his hands. Yi leveled the tip of his sword at his neck, daring him to come forward. When he made no attempt to move, Yi brought down his blade and shattered the crystal.

The nexus exploded. Lux was no longer in the forest. There was no spear embedded in her stomach, and no blood soaked through her armour. Everything was white around her, and she found that she could not move. She didn’t feel the need to. The Institute was sadistic like this — sending people in to fight to the death and coddling them with a false sense of tranquillity afterwards. 

Xin Zhao looked older than she remembered. More worn. The edges of his eyes had crow’s feet, and distinct strands of grey peppered his black hair. How many people had he fought and killed before willingly bowing to the Lightshield name? Now, here he was, a champion of Demacia, the same as her. Forced to fight and kill without hesitation. Again and again. Death did not have significance in a place that played with lives as if they were puppets. Lux wondered how he slept at night. She was plagued by nightmares. 

The white faded. She was back in the glass pod, clad in her armour. Her baton was gone. The low temperature did little to ease her hot skin or settle the nausea that rolled in her stomach as she climbed out of the pod. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. It warmed within seconds. 

Lux kept her head down and walked back to her room, intending to sit silently in her bathtub as icy water rained over her head. Her next match was at eight in the evening. Her second match, out of eighty-five. She hoped her rolling stomach would settle in time for a late lunch. She had been in the Fields of Justice for just under two hours. It felt much longer. She sat in the bathtub and let the freezing water drizzle over her. It wasn’t long before she was shivering and covered in goosebumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of your favs are safe


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: body horror
> 
> My empathy activated as I wrote this chapter. Blame BirdSpirit.

Lux couldn’t feel her fingers. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, head tucked forward, and breathed as ice water rained from the showerhead. She’d been there for almost half an hour and grew desensitized to the cold. The patter of water as it hit the shower floor soothed her. She closed her eyes and flexed her fingers, feeling the bones respond with the languid movement. The Institute would make her fight even if she fell ill. 

She turned the showerhead off with a push of a button and lingered in the tub as the water drained, leaving her in a silent bathroom illuminated by a small nightlight. She stood up. The towel was soft between her fingers. She avoided the mirror as she dried and dressed herself; her reflection disgusted her. No matter how she tried to justify it, she had killed Warwick in cold blood. There was no honour. The relative privacy of Institute matches gave her brief relief; it allowed champions to spectate, but ordinary citizens remained ignorant of the Institute’s location. Its existence was spoken of in hushed whispers. 

She felt drained of all energy and wanted nothing more than to collapse onto her bed and sleep. Jarvan would disapprove if she did. He’d want her to make notes of how the Ionians fought individually and as a unit. Lux shuffled over to her worktable. A roll of parchment and a fountain pen materialized on her desk. She wrote a few shorthand sentences about Karma’s spirit magic and Syndra’s mastery over dark matter, not bothering to go into detail. She knew that, out of misplaced fear, Jarvan would be quick to name Karma as a voodoo worshipper or Syndra as a depraved witch. The intricacies of magic would go ignored. 

Reaching over, she peeled back the curtains and stared into the still courtyard. The sun was bright and inviting, but no one ventured outside. Her room felt stifling and watching the minutes creep by only prolonged her feeling of dread. There wasn’t much to do in the Institute other than kill, be killed, and train in the segregated gymnasiums. She selected a novel at random from her bookshelf and left her room, locking the door behind her. The cafeteria was a short walk away, and she heard the low murmur of conversation as it came into view. The smell of freshly baked bread sent her back to her mornings in Demacia, hanging around her windowsill and observing the guard patrols down below. Her stomach growled. She chewed the inside of her lip and grabbed a clean plate, smothering the dreaded ache of homesickness before it could bubble over and consume her.

Lux piled her plate high with grilled vegetables, boiled and cut potatoes, and a slice of pink salmon before sitting down at a secluded table. She cut her vegetables into manageable pieces and buried her nose in her book. It was one she had already completed, but it made it easier for her to lose herself in the story. She furrowed her brow when a second plate of food joined her table, and a chair screeched across the floor as it was pulled out. Quinn gave her a sheepish look and mumbled a quiet apology. 

“Where’s Valor?” she asked, bookmarking her page. 

Quinn unwrapped her utensils and sat a napkin on her lap. “Off perching on a stone pillar, I would imagine. He likes to be tall.” They took synchronous bites of their food. “When did you arrive? Vayne keeps to herself, and Valor’s not one for deep conversation, so I’m pretty starved for human companionship.” 

Lux placed her book in her lap. “Yesterday. Jarvan wants me primed and ready for… something.” Lux didn’t tell her about Jarvan’s instructions; her mission was her business alone. Quinn offered her a smile, which she returned. 

“He’s gotten rather paranoid in the last few months, hasn’t he?” Quinn chewed her salad. “I can’t blame him; he’s under a lot of pressure to restore Demacia to its former greatness.” 

Lux knew about Jarvan’s stress firsthand. It showed in his posture, as well as the new wrinkles forming around his eyes and across his forehead. His desperation to prove himself worthy of his father’s title was disheartening. His thirst for vengeance consumed him and spat him out as a husk of a man she once knew. She stuffed salmon into her mouth and nodded. 

“I feel bad for him,” she said, swallowing. “It can’t be easy trying to run a country that doesn’t believe in your ability to lead. Garen says that the military stands behind him, but the grand council won’t be so easily swayed.” 

Quinn frowned, saying nothing. Lux glanced at her hunched shoulders and furrowed brow. Quinn wasn’t the type to shake her leg absentmindedly, but the corner of her mouth twitched when she was frustrated. Garen was the same way. 

“Anyway, how are your matches?” she asked, steering the conversation to safer waters. Quinn’s shoulders relaxed, and she sent her a grateful smile. 

“Just fine. Valor loves to hunt, but I could do without the Institute’s mind games,” she cut into her steak. “Y’know, I wouldn’t mind a training partner.” 

The mouthful of broccoli felt like paste going down Lux’s throat. “Sure!” She forced herself to grin. “I can’t guarantee that I’m any good with a crossbow, and it’s been ages since I’ve practiced hand-to-hand grappling, but I’m sure we could make it work. Just don’t use me as a moving target.” 

Quinn laughed, and Lux let down her guard at the familiar sound. They didn’t need to be enemies; she was too paranoid. She knew Quinn had problems with Demacian aristocracy and the ubiquitous presence of noble houses within military and political ranks, but kept her opinions to herself. She was the same way. Quinn could be a friend, but not a confidant. 

They finished their meals in relative silence, making casual small talk whenever the quiet stretched to uncomfortable lengths. Neither mentioned Jarvan. Quinn asked about her novel, and Lux took a great interest in hearing her talk about her sketches. They left the cafeteria in high spirits. Valor joined them, swooping into the Demacian gymnasium through an open window. She lifted a wooden sword, testing its weight in her hand and giving it a few cautious swings. Swordplay had never been her forté, and she wasn’t like Garen, always wanting to be on the front lines. Daggers, being an assassin’s weapon, were scorned. 

Quinn regarded her with amusement as Lux swiped her sword through the air, jabbing at the training dummies. She pressed a hand flat against the wall. It rippled, and the Demacian emblems engraved around the room glowed with fluorescent light. A panel emerged from the wall, and Quinn pressed a series of buttons. Lux lost her grip on her sword as the surrounding gymnasium vanished. Everything was gone — racks of wooden swords, rows of sack dummies, and bold targets. Even the water fountain disappeared. 

Valor squawked. She turned around and took in the change in scenery with wide eyes: tall deciduous trees, freshly fallen leaves, and a muddy riverbank next to a rushing stream. The wooden sword was gone, replaced by her baton. Quinn shifted on her feet and propelled Valor into the air with a lift of her arm. He took off into the trees. Lux took in a breath of air and held it in her lungs. Being outdoors rejuvenated her, even if it was only a synthetic environment. 

“The Demacian forests are lovely during the day but unsettling at night,” Quinn said, loading arrows into her crossbow. Lux watched deft fingers work with fascination. “I was never a fan of evening recon missions, but Jarvan insisted that patrols work around the clock.” The arrows slid into place with a _click_. 

“I doubt I’ll be able to deflect your arrows with this old thing.” Lux spun her baton, giving it a few whacks against her palm for emphasis. It thumped lifelessly against her flesh, refusing to discharge as much as a spark. She shrugged at Quinn’s expression of bemusement. “I’m used to fighting with it.” 

Quinn raised her crossbow, and Lux jumped as four arrows lodged deep into the dirt just centimetres from her boot. She pouted and crossed her arms for emphasis, but she counted the number of seconds it took her to reload, raise the bow, and fire. Quinn pulled the trigger, and Lux rolled to the side as soon as she heard the clean _click_ of the release. Four more arrows sank deep into the dirt. 

“I thought you promised that I wouldn’t be a mobile target!” 

“I never said that,” Quinn called, taking a few steps back. “Just think of it as agility training.” 

It took her three seconds to reload — four if she fumbled. Quinn rarely fumbled. Half a second to raise, and no time to fire. Lux masked her apprehension with a shaky grin. She considered herself lucky that Valor remained on the sidelines. It would be difficult to evade swooping talons and sharpened arrows without magic. 

She had to get closer. 

_Click_. 

Dodge. Stay on her toes. Her heart thudded as she dived behind a stump at the last second. The last arrow grazed her calf and ripped her tights.

Valor screeched, and Lux heard the soft flap of his wings as Quinn gave an unseen signal. 

_Click_. 

Lux dodged to the left and lingered. Four more arrows embedded deep in the tree trunk. She didn’t raise her eyes to the skies. Valor’s shadow darkened. 

_Click_. 

Spring to the right. Three seconds. She ducked as claws came for her eyes, scraping against her cheek and tearing her earlobe. She dug her heel into the soft dirt and bolted forward. Quinn blocked her fist with the flat of her crossbow. The impact popped her knuckles and sent a jolt of pain through her hand. She hooked her leg behind Quinn’s and yanked. 

Valor’s talons sliced against the back of her skull and tangled in her hair. Quinn fell to one knee, hands going to her crossbow. Lux flailed her baton as Valor clapped his wings around her ears. She didn’t hear Quinn nock her arrows or the distinct _click_ of the trigger. Valor shot into the air as four arrows left the crossbow. He screeched as a bright aura engulfed the riverbank. Lux gasped as the tip of her baton flared with white light. Her magic flickered in the form of an opaque barrier, suspending the arrows millimetres from her heart. 

She released her breath, and the barrier dissipated into nothing. The arrows clattered onto the ground. Quinn gawked at her, only breaking her stare to turn her head and hold out her arm for Valor to perch. 

Lux twisted her baton in her hands. “Would you believe me if I said it developed during puberty?” Her heart thudded in her chest.

Quinn gave no indication of having heard her. She took off her helmet and let it fall to the ground. It made a harsh sound as it tumbled. Lux grimaced and took a step forward. When the crossbow wasn’t immediately turned on her, she took a few more. Valor cocked his head at her, staring with dark eyes. Quinn let out a sigh and ran her fingers through her short hair. 

“I don’t know what to say.” She opened her mouth to say more, only to close it moments later. Lux lowered her baton to the ground; its weight didn’t provide her with its usual comfort.

She knew that it wouldn’t be wise to trust Quinn. She worked too closely with Jarvan. A slip of her tongue would destroy years of tiptoeing around the obvious. It took Lux months of convincing to weather him into letting her go on covert reconnaissance missions and even longer to gain his trust. 

“Have you--” Quinn paused, examining her face. “You’re a mage. You’re Demacia’s natural enemy,” she heaved a great sigh, sinking to the ground. Valor gave an indignant squawk. Lux joined her on the ground, giving her space. “You’re what killed King Jarvan,” Quinn’s final declaration came out in a hoarse mumble. 

“Look at me, Quinn,” she said. Quinn’s gaze slid up from the muddy field and met hers. There was no anger, no virulent disappointment, only confusion and subtle betrayal. She held out her hands, facing the palms up. “These are the hands of a Crownguard. I’ll admit, I’ve done things I regret, but they’re not soaked with King Jarvan’s blood.” 

She touched a hand to Quinn’s knee. When she didn’t shrink away, Lux kept it there. “You’re right; I am a mage, but I’m not what killed the High King. The magic that flows through me isn’t the same as the murderer’s. I use my gift to protect. He used his gift to take a life without remorse. We’re not the same, Quinn, despite what the Demacian nobles and grand council want everyone to believe.”

Quinn sucked in a breath and held it. Her shoulders deflated as she let it out. Valor took interest in a nearby log and amused himself by pecking at the marching ants. 

“Your brother never mentioned it,” she said. 

“Please don’t blame him for that. I swore him to secrecy. My mom knew before anyone, but Garen found out after a sporadic flare-up.” Lux chewed her lip. “I know it hasn’t been easy for him to keep secrets from Jarvan. I was asking a lot of him to lie to the man he revered more than anyone.” 

Quinn looked at her, incredulous. “Jarvan mandates all-Demacian matches to help promote ‘group battle techniques’ and teamwork. How hasn’t he caught on yet?” 

“I avoid him like the plague,” she deadpanned. “It’s a lot easier than you’d think. He’s not one for stealth, and the clanking of his armour lets me know where he is before our somatic link can tether us together,” she reached over and grabbed her baton, spinning it in her hand. “I use this as a bludgeon. He’s never talked to me about it, so I assume he’s fine with it, though it’s not very effective.” She mimed whacking someone over the head. Quinn choked out a weak laugh. 

“I’m glad to hear that it hasn’t changed you much.” She offered a wane smile. “You’re still the same Lux I remember.” 

“I’m here, aren’t I? A champion of Demacia, just like you. I fight and kill - bleed and die - for our country. Would an underhanded villain put her sanity on the line for the crown?” 

Quinn shook her head. “I suppose not. Not willingly, anyway.” 

Lux tugged at the few blades of grass that flourished in the muddy terrain. Dirt nestled under her fingernails. “I donate my spoils to the needy because being a Demacian is about looking out for the weak. Defending those who aren’t capable of defending themselves. What am I going to do with blood-soaked gold? It wouldn’t be right to keep it. I don’t want to be a part of a country that persecutes against its people, but now, Demacia is utterly overrun by fear and ignorance.” 

Quinn picked up her helmet, brushed off the dirt, and slid it on. Valor flew onto her shoulder and perched as she stood up, offering her hand. Lux took it and pulled herself up. 

“Show me what you’re capable of.” Quinn readied her crossbow. 

She was more than happy to oblige. 

Her light magic couldn’t puncture flesh like sharpened arrows, but it could blind and burn. The sun’s rays strengthened her barrier. Quinn’s arrows rebounded off the magical surface. Lux rolled to the side as Valor swooped down, brandishing his talons. A quick glance showed Quinn reloading. Valor made it hard to plant her feet and aim her baton. 

She cloaked herself in strands of light and quieted her breathing. Valor squawked and flew higher into the air; his giant wings blocked the sun. Lux melded her magic closer to her body and charged her baton. Her stomach lurched, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep approaching nausea at bay. She took advantage of Quinn’s brief confusion and fired off a tight ring of light. It hit her square in the chest, wrapping around her shoulders and binding her arms to her sides. Quinn dropped her crossbow. Valor cut through the air and swooped down. Lux’s cloak dissolved as she hit the ground with a grunt before sharp talons could rake across her face. 

_Click_. 

Lux leapt up and thrust out her baton. She heard Quinn cry out as the light overwhelmed her, forcing her to forgo her shot to shield her eyes. Valor’s dark feathers were a blur in the blinding light. Lux stumbled back, catching her ankle against a protruding root as he went on the offensive - talons and sharpened feathers assaulted her face, her hands, and her ears. Her baton didn’t deter him, and cloaking only reinforced his vigour. Her cheeks wept with blood. He shot into the sky, screeching. 

Her stomach twisted in agony as she brought her baton up, aiming at Quinn’s dominant hand, and let loose a beam of light. She heard her cry out in pain as the heat scorched through her glove. Lux tumbled to the ground, clutching her stomach. Her vision blurred as she desperately sucked in minuscule breaths. Nothing eased the pain — a resounding throb that caused her ears to ring and bones to ache. It didn’t tear open her flesh like Warwick’s claws or burn away her skin like Syndra’s dark matter, but it was like nothing she’d ever felt. 

She brought her knees up to her chest and let out a groan as a fresh wave of nausea overwhelmed her. Quinn knelt by her side, free of injuries, and swept the hair from her face. Lux squeezed her eyes shut; the sun’s light caused her head to pound like war drums. 

“Are you all right?” Quinn murmured, keeping her voice soft. She moved to block the sun, and Lux felt her body relax as the agony gradually diminished. Overexertion was a punishment, not a warning. Its adverse effects began as a gentle boil. If ignored, it would bubble over the rim and burn the pot. 

She managed a weak nod, cheek pressed against the dirt. It would be a while before her body could sit upright, much less stand. The Institute’s healing currents couldn’t ease the side effects that came with magical exertion. Using magic to restore magic was a paradox. Lux took as deep of a breath as she could before a sharp ache echoed through her chest. 

“How about we stop for today?” Quinn asked. “You got the jump on me quite a few times, and you’re certainly creative with your… magic.” 

Lux felt the burn of embarrassment stretch and tinge her ears. She didn’t want to stop. She hadn’t done enough. Pushed herself enough. Her body had decided for her. Quinn placed a hand on her thigh and uncurled her body with slow motions. Lux grit her teeth as the burning ache in her bones intensified with movement. It felt like an eternity before her body was lying supine on the ground. She saw stars every time she blinked. The metallic taste of blood coated her throat. 

“Hopefully that helps some. I knew of a lot of soldiers who get severe muscle cramps and nausea after working themselves too hard for too long under the hot sun.” Quinn wrinkled her nose. 

Lux closed her eyes and swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat, “for readily accepting me.” Quinn looked at her, chewing her lip, then leaned over to pick a brown leaf from her hair. 

“I doubt you intended on telling me. It sort of just came out, didn’t it?” 

She made a soft noise of confirmation. Nodding made her dizzy. “I keep it from most Demacians: Jarvan, Fiora, Vayne, you. But now you know, and you’ve seen what I can do.” She took in another shuddering breath. Her head was clearer than before. “I can’t keep it from everyone; I need my magic to protect myself and others, but I hide it from people who matter.” 

Valor shot like an arrow into the trees. Quinn kept her eyes on Lux, staying quiet. 

“Did you know that my family had arranged for me to marry Jarvan?” Lux laughed, a hollow sound that hurt her ribs and sent her into a coughing fit, “My mother suggested it. Garen disapproved, naturally, but what other options were there?”

“Did they believe that the Lightshield name was enough to protect you from any unsavoury accusations?” 

“Nobody’s brave enough to accuse the Lightshield family without substantial proof.” She flexed her fingers and then twisted her forearms. Minute movements were integral to regaining magical circulation. “Besides, political marriages are common in noble families. Me being outed as a mage would’ve been disastrous for the Crownguard name.” 

“I think you’ve done well by your family, regardless of your magic. It takes a special dedication to oppose royalty, not to mention a friend.” Quinn offered a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, but her words were genuine. 

Lux stared up at the clear sky, watching small birds fly by, and stayed quiet. A hand wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Would her mother still be proud of her if she witnessed what became of her? … Would her father? 

“I’m still weak,” she said instead. “I cast a few spells, and then I’m exhausted.” She pushed herself onto her shoulders, ignoring Quinn’s complaints. It hurt - of course it did - but so did Syndra’s dark magic. “Gods, you didn’t see what happened, Quinn. I could barely restrain Warwick. Syndra _absorbed_ my magic and used it to fuel hers; she broke through my barrier as if it was wet tissue.” She sucked in a desperate breath as tears pricked her eyes. 

In a few short hours, she would be tossed back into the Fields of Justice to prove her worth in blood. She knew better than to hope for a passive match free of bloodshed. Quinn shifted beside her, crossing her legs, and sighed. 

“We’ll keep practicing,” she said. “I don’t enjoy seeing you work yourself to the point of exertion, but I prefer you alive than dead.” 

Lux managed a grim smile.

*

A crow screeched into the night. An icy finger traced up Lux’s spine as she stared down the darkened path. A lantern, glowing with soothing, orange light, floated beside her. She swallowed a lump in her throat. The sky was pitch black; there were no stars to wish her well on her way. She didn’t recognize this biome: tall, imposing trees, blue-grey shrubbery, a worn dirt road rather than a cobblestone path. Her mind surged with anxiety, and Lux dimmed her lantern on instinct. She didn’t raise her baton. 

Branches snapped under heavy footsteps. She sighed as Ezreal tugged his boot out of a patch of bramble. He gave her a cheeky grin and appeared by her side in a flash of yellow glitz. She pointed to a twig stuck in his hair. Ominous clouds rolled above. At least she wasn’t alone. 

The dirt road dampened their footsteps. Though it took considerable effort, Lux kept her baton charged. There wasn’t much light for her to draw from, and she couldn’t afford to transfigure their humble lantern into a permanent beacon. The silence was stifling, but it made it easy for her to listen for the scuffling of boots against tree bark or heavy bodies traversing across the grass. The trees grew gnarled and thick as they left the relative safety of their starting zone. 

Ezreal nudged her and pointed into the thicket of trees away from the dirt path. Lux squinted her eyes and made out three orbs of light dancing in the darkness. They chased each other like children, shooting into the air and orbiting one another before vanishing deeper into the forest. The innocuous display made goosebumps form on her skin. 

She grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered. The gleam of curiosity in his eyes suited him, but it wasn’t worth dying for. “That could be Ahri, for all we know.” 

“Well, we don’t know. That’s the point of checking.” She chewed the inside of her cheek as he casually brushed her off. The back of her neck heated with frustration. “Plus, there’s no way that’s Ahri. She needs fourteen hours of beauty sleep a day, minimum.” 

“It’s obviously a trap! And unlike you, I can’t teleport.” Lux pulled him back on the trail. “We need to find our rook and go from there.” 

“Never knew you wanted me around that much. I can dig it.” 

She didn’t bother with a response; they wasted too much time bickering as is. A reverberating howl sent a chill down her back. She had already been on the receiving end of Warwick’s claws once today. 

Ezreal clicked his tongue and readied his gauntlet. “Angry, slobbering wolf-man. Fun times.” 

They reached their allied rook without an issue. The stalwart gargoyle was missing, replaced by a stone-faced knight gripping a heavy bastard sword. Part of his helmet was chipped off, exposing grey rubble. Blood stained the tip of his sword. Lux pressed her hand against the statue’s wound. Her touch pulsated with a blue aura that spread across the surface, repairing cracks and chips in the stone. The light of the lantern was enough for her to discern inky splotches of blood staining the dirt ground. No wonder Warwick was so excited. 

Whoever attacked their rook couldn’t have made it far. Lux straightened up and tightened her grip around her baton, funnelling more magic through. If she could get a clear shot at the opposition, then it would be over. Quick and painless. 

Something pricked her neck. She spun around, looking for the source. Nothing was there. Ezreal was gone. She hadn’t heard him leave, and there was no sign of his… body. She held her breath and moved closer to her allied tower. Her neck itched. She scratched it absentmindedly, eyes scanning the dark horizon. Her fingers came back sticky with blood. 

The wind picked up. A shock of lightning coursed through her body, sending her to her knees. Lux bit back a groan and coughed. Her hand went to her baton, having dropped it because of the unexpected pain. The stone knight came alive, disentangling himself from his tower, and brandished his sword across his chest. She wasn’t hurt. She had to get up. The sharp clack of heels on stone distracted her from the searing pain in her chest. 

She wasn’t fast enough to intercept the golden chain. It shot from the shadows, impaling the knight in his chest. She sprang away from the raining rubble as the knight exploded and his tower toppled to the ground. Her heart pounded in her ears. 

LeBlanc’s magic wasn’t too different from hers. Lux got to her feet and scanned the surrounding treeline. No one. Her chain was a deadly illusion, meant to tether her victim to her staff. She sucked in a breath; the pain in her chest diminished. Ezreal was dead. If she could get the staff, LeBlanc would be powerless. 

Another chain shot out from the darkness, but she was ready. Lux twisted to the side and sent a blast of light back. It sailed through the air and shattered against a tree trunk, illuminating everything in its path. She didn’t spot LeBlanc’s shadow. 

A pinprick of pain itched the back of her neck. She spun around and shot another bundle of light into the darkness just as her neck and shoulders sizzled in agony. Lux bit down on her tongue to stifle a scream. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. LeBlanc had branded her. 

“Oh, poor child.” She heard LeBlanc croon and whipped her wrist, shielding herself in a bright bubble of magic. “You look so lost. So far away from your white walls and gilded crown.” 

LeBlanc’s face appeared inches from hers, lips curled into a mocking smile. Lux swung her baton, shattering the barrier and knocking the accursed staff from her hands with a well-timed beam. The staff soared through the air and stuck hilt-first in the ground. 

Her back burned in agony as she thrust out her baton, expending the rest of her stored magic. The light engulfed her and tossed LeBlanc back. She landed with an audible _thump_ not too far from her staff. Lux sprinted, diving into a roll and snatching up the staff before it could fly back into LeBlanc’s hands. She grunted as she smashed the head against the ground, splintering the staff and fracturing the crystal inside. LeBlanc’s infuriating smile never left her face, even as her hand blistered. 

“How does it feel to be despised by the masses, hm?” her grin crawled across her face, stretching her cheeks. “To be a permanent stain in your family history?” 

Lux grit her teeth and said nothing. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down and charge her weapon. LeBlanc was powerless, but she was still dangerous. 

“I bet you don’t even know how to control that magic coursing through your veins.” Lux ignored her. “Elemental manipulation is such an intense branch of sorcery. It can consume you if you’re not careful. Morph you into an empty shell possessed by magic.” 

Her baton was powerless; she strapped it to her belt.There were rocks near her fallen tower. She picked one up. LeBlanc laughed as she turned her sights on her, rock nestled precariously in her arms. 

“Little girl,” she sat up as Lux approached, “you don’t have the strength. You never did. What would your brother think if he saw you now?” She shoved her back down and straddled her lap. All she needed was a clean hit. The rock was heavy in her hands. Her arms shook. 

“Pathetic little mage,” LeBlanc spat, “can you even recognize yourself? You’re desperate.” 

Lux shut her out. 

LeBlanc sneered, “Bloodthirsty.” 

She raised the rock. One clean hit. 

“Your mother would be ashamed of what she cultivated,” LeBlanc’s eyes sparkled with mirth. Lux felt tears of frustration prick at her eyes. “And your _father--”_

She brought the rock down. LeBlanc’s skull caved in. A trickle of blood ran down her mouth, trailing onto the dirt below. Her eyes were unfocused, but she blinked and twitched her mouth into a too-wide grin. Lux shook as croaking laughter reverberated around her. She brought the rock down again. It came back coated with blood. And again. LeBlanc’s nose bent sideways, and her lips were wet with blood. They parted to release a soft wheeze.

Her heart raced. LeBlanc’s face was unrecognizable. Lux couldn’t stop her hands, now stained with sticky blood, from shaking. She threw away her rock and pushed herself up. Her mind was cloudy, and her body felt foreign. LeBlanc won. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She let out a shuddering breath as LeBlanc’s corpse burst into dust. Ezreal had to be close by. What she needed more than anything else was a distraction. 

She turned around, and her heart dropped to her stomach. The dust swirled around her, depositing just in front of her. It solidified into a familiar form with an infuriating smirk. Lux took a step back, her hand going to her belt and pulling her baton free, twisting it in front of her. The darkness made it impossible to siphon light from her surroundings; her lantern had long run out of fuel. LeBlanc waggled her finger and clicked her tongue. Her staff flashed once. Lux felt her world spin as she flew through the air. Her back hit the ground, and her head knocked against the stone tower’s rubble. Her breathes came in shallow gasps. 

Two LeBlancs peered down at her. Each thumped the butt of their staff on the ground in conjunction. Lux rolled her head to the side. Her baton lay an arm’s reach away, crystal bulb dark and lifeless. She reached for it and shrieked as LeBlanc’s staff pierced clean through her palm. 

“Oops,” LeBlanc muttered. Lux’s eyes watered as she twisted the staff, mumbling something about Demacian cockroaches. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out as LeBlanc stomped on her wrist and tore the butt of her staff from her hand. 

The hole in her hand bled liberally. Her fingers twitched of their own accord, and Lux tried not to stare at the white bone contrasting against gooey red skin and muscle. She didn’t dare reach for her baton again. She cradled her hand close to her chest, rolling onto her side. LeBlanc smiled at the sight of her mark, prominent and red against Lux’s fair back. 

“It amazes me that they haven’t caught you yet.” She stepped around Lux’s quivering form and pressed the butt of her staff none-too-gently against her ribs. With a light shove and a grunt of disgust, she flipped her onto her back. “While dimwitted and brutish, Demacian Mageseekers are more voracious than the finest Noxian bloodhounds. Surely they could manage to sniff out a petite thing like you.” 

Lux choked as LeBlanc’s heel came down onto her chest. She pressed the flat of her heel against the hollow of her throat and dug the spine into her collarbone. Lux felt her ears burn with disgrace. She didn’t believe in spiritual ancestors, but she prayed that her mother and father couldn’t witness her degradation at the hands of a sworn enemy. LeBlanc had the audacity to bump the tip of her shoe against her chin. 

“Now I wonder” — she shot Lux a mischievous grin — “how dear Jarvan would react to an anonymous tip proclaiming honest, humble Luxanna Crownguard to be an abhorred mage.” 

Lux jerked forward, but LeBlanc’s heel rooted her to the ground. “Ah,” she tutted, “it seems I’ve struck a nerve. I couldn’t _imagine_ the things they’d do to you. Why don’t you enlighten me?” 

A golden chain shot from the centre of LeBlanc’s staff. It embedded itself in Lux’s trachea and burned like hellfire. “Would they imprison you? Leave you in the dungeons to rot?” As her vision grew spotty with pain, she found that she couldn’t scream. “Or would Jarvan make an example out of you? I’ve no doubt that it would boost his notoriety as a martial figurehead. He does desire to be crowned king, after all.” 

LeBlanc’s heel brushed against her cheek. Lux closed her eyes as a tear rolled down her face. She couldn’t stand to see that woman’s gloating smile, nor would she give her the satisfaction of eye-contact as she died. 

A force gripped her chin and forced her head up. Struggling was fruitless. No matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, it forced her eyelids open. She stared up at LeBlanc’s visage as her eyes watered from strain. 

“Nope.” LeBlanc waggled her finger. “I want to see the light fade from your pretty baby blues.” She touched the tip of her staff to Lux’s forehead. A searing pain erupted as the crystal rested against her skin. She opened her mouth in a soundless scream. The only noises she could make were guttural heaves and pathetic whimpers. 

Her eyes burned. LeBlanc lifted her staff and smiled down at Lux, exuding triumph. It wasn’t enough that she had to win. LeBlanc thrived on breaking her enemies’ spirits. Reducing a man to a grovelling, pleading mess was more satisfying than merely ending him. Lux refused to grovel, and no pleas for mercy left her mouth. 

She swallowed with great difficulty. The chain attached to her throat straightened as LeBlanc’s eyes flashed a deep purple. She heard the sizzle of heat as the chain wiggled. It burned red, then orange, and finally a white bright enough to rival her light magic. 

Lux opened her mouth to scream as the fire ate away at her tongue, melted her bones, and consumed her flesh. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt. Overexertion was a paper cut compared to LeBlanc’s dark magic. Her skin crackled as the fire cooked it from the inside out. Lux turned away from the horrid sight, focusing on the accursed Noxian before her. LeBlanc stared down her nose as Lux’s body, scorched and mutilated, twitched and jerked out of reflex. 

In a few seconds, the Institute would put her body out of its misery. The magic would consume her, and she’d be transported back to her starting position. She clenched her jaw, silent fury bubbling inside her. If she wasn’t so weak, then she could have defended herself. If she hadn’t been so haughty, so overconfident, then her body wouldn’t be blistering. Her face wouldn’t be charred. Part of her blamed Demacia for being so willfully ignorant, incapacitated by fear and hatred. The problem, she knew, lay with Jarvan, but she couldn’t confront him without endangering herself and shaming the Crownguard name. 

The crystal powering LeBlanc’s staff was utterly foreign to her. She hadn’t come across anything like it during her visit to the Ionian night market. When activated, it pulsated with an eerie, magenta light. LeBlanc vanished into the thicket before Lux could thoroughly memorize the physical intricacies of her staff. It was hard not looking at herself. Even as a spectator, she could still smell her roasting skin, singed hair, and the sharp tang of seared blood. 

Her stomach tumbled as she was yanked backwards into her body. Back to her starting position. The Institute wasn’t merciful enough to provide her with another lantern. Warwick’s distant howl was quiet, though it chilled her to the bone all the same. Lux reached around and felt the back of her neck. The brand was gone. Her fingers came back clean, dry. Traversing down the dirt path would mean another confrontation with LeBlanc. She didn’t have a light source to draw from, but her eyes had long since adapted to the darkness. The quartz embedded in the tip of her staff was dark. She couldn’t go north, and a quick glance behind her revealed nothing but curling trees and endless darkness. 

She had no river to follow. A thick layer of clouds obstructed the night sky. Intuition pulled her westward. Branches slapped against her face and torso as she set off in a light jog. The dirt soon turned to thick, sloppy mud that clung to her boots. Good. Hopefully, a water source would lead her to an enemy tower. 

Fireflies floated above the pond’s surface, and Lux breathed a sigh of relief. Light. From the fireflies’ dim glow, she could make out the dark green pond scum, vibrant water lilies, and pink flowers that bloomed on the water’s surface. She charged her baton with what little light there was until the bulb shone brightly. It wasn’t as effective as a torch, but it would do. The restoration of her magic lifted her spirits. If she weren’t in an arena filled with mindless murder, then she would consider hanging around the pond, smelling the lilies and playing with the fireflies. Such jovial activities would only get her killed gruesomely. 

She sank to her knees as a rush of warmth bewitched her, crawling over to the water’s edge. Oh, what a beautiful woman stared back at her! She had lovely yellow eyes that glinted brighter than polished gold. Her skin was softer than the most expensive silk, and Lux sighed as a pale hand caressed her cheek. The embrace soothed her and fogged her mind; she never wanted to leave. 

Lux saw her reflection in the water, cheeks flushed, eyes longing. She couldn’t recognize the face pressed against her shoulder, but she knew with certainty that it was the most beautiful thing to ever exist. The woman’s face split into a dazzling smile, and her arm snaked around Lux’s shoulders, pulling her closer. When her hands cupped her chin and leaned in, Lux’s heart thudded in her chest. She closed her eyes. Their lips met, and she felt sharp claws dig deep into her scalp. A long, slippery tongue forced its way into her mouth. She choked as a serrated edge sliced against her tongue and shoved itself down her throat. 

Her teeth clamped down around the tentacle-like appendage. The woman gave a screech of outrage, and Lux felt the fog recede from her mind. She snapped her eyes open and clawed at the face in front of her with as much force as she could muster. The tentacle sliced against her lip as it exited her mouth. Lux spat a glob of bloody saliva onto the ground. Her body was weak, her muscles languid. Panic grew inside her as Evelynn flung herself back and sneered, disdain written plainly on her face. A bead of dark blood formed at the corner of her eye where Lux’s nails nicked her. 

Evelynn withdrew her tongue back into her mouth, moaning as she savoured the taste of blood and fear. Lux backpedalled at the salacious look on her face. She stumbled to her feet, knee-deep in the pond, as Evelynn launched herself, lashers extended and eyes wide with excitement. 

They fell backwards in the pond. Lux abandoned her baton, using her hands to pry jabbing lashers out of her shoulders. Evelynn gargled as Lux curled her legs and kicked into her pelvis. Drowning would’ve been a preferable alternative. She gasped for air as she breached the surface of the water. The murky water obstructed the glow of her baton. Was a wanton dive worth the risk? Evelynn was still underwater. 

Her magic was volatile without a medium. She sucked a deep breath and dove down, vision blurry and eyes burning as she scanned the waters for her baton. There it was, stuck at the bottom. She swam forward and grabbed it, pushing off the bank once it was in her grasp. 

Algae stuck in her hair as she trod water, stumbling onto the shore. Lux coughed and spat up water. There was a puff of sultry air near her ear, and her body instinctively tensed as Evelynn materialized out of thin air. She was cloaked by shadows, her eyes a burning red. She pounced before Lux could lift her baton and banish the darkness with her light. Evelynn’s claws tore through her wet armour, and her lashers restrained her arms far above her head. Lux shuddered as claws trailed down her chest and scratched at her abdomen. She didn’t like how Evelynn’s eyes glittered as a cat-like smile stretched across her face. She had too many teeth, all jagged sharp. 

Lux flinched as she pressed a tender kiss against her cheek. “Enjoy yourself, sweetie. I know I will.” 

The nails dug themselves into her abdomen. She didn’t have the chance to clench her abdomen and scream before Evelynn dug her fingers deeper into her skin and tore at anything she touched. Pain immobilized her, and any thought of escaping turned into silent prayers for a quick death. Her legs thrashed. Evelynn smiled.

“Inner beauty is what’s important,” She chortled as she peeled back layer after layer of skin and muscle. Lux’s face was pallid, and blood bubbled from her mouth. Evelynn hummed, licking away a trail of blood that ran down her chin. 

Her fingers brushed against the lashers restraining her arms. It was asinine to fight, but Lux twisted her body to the side just as Evelynn sank her teeth into her neck, ripping away tendons and skin. The agony was blinding, and she couldn’t suppress the scream that tore itself loose from her throat. Her blood covered the ground in thick layers, and clumps of her skin and muscle joined the tiny pebbles. Her feet lamely scrabbled against the ground, trying to put some distance between them. 

“Such pretty eyes,” she heard Evelynn coo before something warm, wet, and sharp lapped at her eye. Her eye stung and wept blood as the tongue pressed flush against her cornea. Bile rose in her throat, and her heart hammered. Her skin chilled with horror. Evelynn’s tongue prodded around her eye, and Lux let out a slight whimper as the serrated edge grazed against her eyelid. The tip forced its way behind her eye. Evelynn paused, vibrating with pleasure as Lux stiffened. 

She was afraid to move. Seconds passed, and Evelynn’s lashers tightened around her wrists. Her eyelid twitched endlessly as another section of tongue poked and prodded its way behind her eyeball. The pressure was immense. Lux’s body shook as it circled, painstakingly slow, around in her eye socket. Hot blood dribbled down her face. Evelynn didn’t stop even as her tongue scraped against firm muscle; the serrated edge chewed through the ring of muscle with ease, but Evelynn made sure to saw her tongue in and out. It felt like fire, and Lux had no choice but to stare up at the sky with her mangled eye as the tongue wrenched free of her eye socket. 

Her right eye was motionless. Evelynn raked her talons down Lux’s face and tore off a section of her eyelid. It clung onto her fingernails like a dirty bandage and was flung aside without care. Blood obstructed her vision and pooled in her eye. The bladed lashers stung at her fingers and cut her palms as Lux thrashed, trying to shake Evelynn off her. She gasped as long talons dug into her left eye socket and tugged. Her eye tried to shut, but Evelynn’s fingers reached higher. Lux screamed as agony wracked her body. The vision in her eye went out, and Evelynn gave her a teasing grin, withdrawing her fingers and splattering her face with droplets of blood and gooey chunks. She held up a bloody chunk and licked it clean. Her blue iris stared back at her. The heavens were empty; her prayers for a quick death went unanswered.

Evelynn’s lips were on hers again, her tongue flooding her mouth with the rancid taste of blood. She gagged as chewy bits of flesh were shoved down her throat. Lux felt hands reach deeper and deeper into her abdomen and groaned when nails scratched within her. The pain surpassed the most viscous cramps or stomach infections. She was being ripped apart from the inside. Evelynn dragged her hands out, coated with a slimy layer of blood. She held up a dark organ for Lux to see. 

A sharp blade hooked around her neck, and Lux felt the bite of its edge as it sliced her throat. It dragged her back, away from Evelynn’s malice. The blade unhooked and came down in a flash of moonlight. Lux choked out a stream of blood as her head rolled. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her limbs. The blood moon was a blur in the night sky, its red visage dimmed and melded into the surrounding darkness. 

Evelynn erupted in a cry of fury. 

Lux held a hand to her neck and swallowed. Revulsion flooded her senses as she glanced towards Evelynn, her arms and claws bloodied. Her eyes were frenzied, and bloody spittle dripped from her teeth, barred in a nasty scowl. Gratitude forced its way into the forefront of her mind. Mercy kills were rare. Clean decapitation was rarer. Diana knelt down, ignoring Evelynn’s simmering temper, and turned her severed head so that her cheek kissed the ground. Lux scrambled away from her body, mangled and desecrated beyond belief. Evelynn had torn out her liver and played with her stomach. If Diana hadn’t come, she would have ripped it out, too. 

The dam broke. Evelynn flew into a fit of rage and pounced, lashers outstretched and menacing. Her claws tore fruitlessly at Diana’s head. Her lashers glanced off her armour, not making a dent. Lux watched Evelynn’s rage unfound with grotesque curiosity. Preventions were set in place to prevent accidental friendly fire, but Evelynn was murderous. Diana blocked her blows with the hilt of her weapon and disappeared into the thicket in a burst of moonlight. Lux made a mental note to avoid the pond. 

When the Instituted revived her, she found Ezreal perched high in a tree at their starting point. He yelped in surprise as she materialized. She touched her face. No injuries. Nothing to serve as a reminder from her most recent encounter.

“Avoid the pond toward the west,” she said. “Evelynn’s there.” He grimaced, not bothering to ask for any details. 

She charged her baton with great effort, siphoning the colours emitted from Ezreal’s gauntlet. He didn’t look alarmed as heavy grunts echoed their way, followed by the snaps of fallen branches. Lux clenched her jaw and raised her baton, the tip glowing bright and illuminating the thick darkness. A minor sting irritated her cheek, and she lowered her baton, keeping the light on. Caitlyn’s finger rested permanently on the trigger of her rifle. Her hat was missing. Dark purple bags lined the underside of Vi’s eyes. Her lip was split, crusted over with dried blood, and there was a shallow nick on her cheek. Relief swept through her like a hurricane. 

“Gang’s all here!” Ezreal smiled. “Now we can finally get down to business.” 

Caitlyn sniffed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “I’m not one for pessimistic attitudes, but I’ve got enough sense to say that our best bet is sticking together and destroying towers. We’re against an unsavoury bunch this time, and I’d rather not take any unnecessary risks.” 

LeBlanc and Evelynn. Diana. Who else was there? She couldn’t be against Warwick again. 

“Katarina and Akali,” Caitlyn said, catching onto her silent question. 

“A sadistic fucker and an edgy teenage ninja.” Vi cracked her knuckles. Lux closed her eyes, breathing through her nose to calm her building queasiness. 

Ezreal cleared his throat. When all attention was on him, he stuck a finger up at the sky. The thick clouds pulled away, revealing a crimson moon that consumed half the sky. She swallowed the lump in her throat. 

“Warwick can handle himself,” Caitlyn said after a beat of silence, “though it’s not him I’m worried for.” Her lips creased into a deep frown. Vi clenched her jaw, staring up at the moon as if her glare could pierce it and bring down the heavens. 

“Watch out for Diana,” Lux found herself saying. “She’s faster than I remember, and that was without the blood moon.” 

“We need to take down three more towers. Vi and I were able to topple one early on, and Ezreal, I know you managed another.” Caitlyn glanced at her, loading a few bullets into her rifle chamber. “How about you, Lux? Any good news for the road?” 

“LeBlanc got the jump on me before I could try. Her clone is a menace.” 

Caitlyn chewed her lip. “Right then.” 

They moved as a unit towards the northern towers. The first one was unguarded, and Vi brought it down without issue. Lux kept her eyes trained on the trees. The blood moon provided little light, but it was enough to keep her baton charged. She took on the role of being Caitlyn’s spotter. Her anxiety enhanced her reflexes, and soon the second tower came into view. 

Caitlyn aimed her rifle and popped the ugly, red gargoyle between the eyes before it left its post. Vi reared back and smashed down the rook with glee. She felt Ezreal tense beside her and twisted the baton in her grasp. They were being watched — it was an unsavoury, prickly sensation on the back of her neck — but Lux didn’t spot any bodies. If they followed the dirt path, it would be a long journey to the third tower. Their best bet was traversing through the thickets until they came across another pathway. 

A resounding, guttural screech sent fear into her heart. It echoed from the west, and the deafening silence that followed made her assume the worst. Vi and Caitlyn exchanged worried glances. Her baton was slick in her hands. Their ragged breaths broke the silence as they raced to the source. Vi led, and Ezreal brought up the rear. Caitlyn was adamant that Lux stay near her should someone ambush them along the way. 

She recognized the rancid scent in the air. It was putrid, more pungent than Noxian waste or Zaunite sewage, heavy and humid. There had to be water close by. It couldn’t be the pond; they were too far north. That... creature was too massive to fit in such a shallow pool. Vi coughed and buried her nose in her elbow as the stench intensified. Lux’s eyes watered. 

The river flooded onto the embankment, wilting weeds and cattails. She dry heaved and took a few steps back. There was no water; the monster’s thick, green blood snaked along the river trail and killed any plant life in its way. Even in death, its carcass was grotesque. Venom seeped from its open jaws, and green blood dripped from its teeth and eyes. Its head was severed from its body, which lay a ways away, sporting deep lacerations and burns.

She heard Caitlyn gasp and followed her gaze to the centre of the winding river. Obstructing the corrupted stream was Warwick’s still body, lying prone and missing a leg. The back of his neck was matted with blood. A clean, horizontal cleave dug deep into his shoulders. From her vantage point, Lux could see white bone peeking through the muscle and fur. It made her sick. He was a beast, but nothing deserved to be tortured and their body desecrated.

The monster had no blades to slice with; it couldn’t have killed Warwick. Ezreal dragged her away, back into the safety of the thicket, before her thoughts could consume her. Caitlyn creased her brow, and her fingers drummed a nervous beat onto the butt of her rifle.

They were silent as they maneuvered past trees with low branches and bushes with ample thorns. Every noise that wasn’t their own made her jump and aim her baton. The blood moon bore down on them and illuminated their path. A blue beacon shot into the sky. She stared at it, frustration briefly filling her mind. She was angry at herself for letting LeBlanc toy with her. For letting Evelynn manipulate her like she was a pile of clay.

Vi swore. Lux pushed past her, breaking down branches with her baton until a familiar dirt road appeared before her. It led into a clearing. There was the tower — unguarded and missing its stone sentinel. She charged her baton, feeling her heart flutter with every spark of magic that flowed through her fingers and into the quartz crystal. The ground lurched under her feet as an unseen force yanked her back. She rolled onto her side, clutching her baton to her chest.

Nothing.

Lux scrambled to her feet, only now feeling the itchy sting across her abdomen. It was a shallow cut, but the pain sharpened her senses. The tower was still in sight; she could destroy it with ease. Her baton flashed with light as she readied her shot. An arc of light shot towards her from behind a tree, knocking her off her feet. She gasped as the magic burned her skin. It didn’t leave her trembling in pure agony, unlike LeBlanc’s twisted sorcery, but it was enough to blister her skin as it dissipated.

A force strong enough to shake mountains crashed into her, and Lux felt the bite of steel as a blade slashed for her abdomen. Her baton exploded with light as it was cleaved in two. She stifled a groan as blood flowed from the cut in her torso. Her eyes burned. A sharp edge forced itself under her chin and tilted it up. Lux’s mouth grew dry at the sight of the purple veins burrowed deep into Diana’s skin. She swallowed, and the blade’s edge pressed firmly against the underside of her jaw.

Diana had killed Warwick. The veins resembled the eldritch monster’s tentacles and grew thicker as they reached her head, pulsating in time with her heartbeat. Thin, purple vessels crawled from her eyes and down her cheeks, blooming into hideous patterns that stretched towards her neck and mouth. Her eyes glowed with moonlight. As harrowing as Diana looked, Lux found that she couldn’t look away.

Diana blinked to the left as a bullet cracked against her shoulder. Her mouth curled into a pained scowl. Vi charged forward with a loud cry and brought her gauntlets down. The brief diversion allowed Lux to spring to her feet, channelling her magic through her fingertips. She managed a warbling sphere of light and launched it into the fray. Diana jerked Vi to her knees as the light exploded, encompassing them.

A red beacon shot into the sky. They destroyed five towers; they had a fighting chance. The temporary joy that flooded her body was short-lived. The light magic dissipated, and Diana was gone. Vi had a deep gash running along her thigh. Lux rushed to her side, applying pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. The sharp crack of a gunshot made her flinch. Vi grunted as her fingers slipped against the wet wound. Something wasn’t right.

Lux felt a searing pain in her chest just as Vi choked. She sucked in a breath as it faded. Her magic flowed to her hands, sticky with blood. The wind whistled. She brought up her arms, weaving a thin barricade, just as Diana’s khopesh came slicing down. It shattered her shield with ease. Another bullet lodged itself into Diana’s forearm, and she bled from a puncture in her side.

Warwick leapt from the darkness and tackled her to the ground. His claws were a blur as they sliced their way through her armour and into her chest. Lux stared in horror as her blade shone white and erupted in an arc of pure moonlight. Diana vanished and reappeared high in the air. Her blade came down with a vengeance, and Warwick howled as his front paw dropped to the ground in a spray of hot blood. She vanished before he could lunge forward and snap her neck in his jaws. He paid Lux no attention and followed Diana’s meagre trail of blood into the forest.

Lux cradled her arm close to her chest, flexing her fingers to remind herself that she hadn’t lost it. The pain in her upper arm, combined with Vi’s thigh wound, was enough to make her woozy. She slung Vi’s arm around her shoulders, ignoring the scoff of doubt, and lifted her up. Her leg screamed in protest, and Vi shifted her weight to her non-injured foot. Caitlyn emerged from the thicket, a dark shadow over her face, and slung her rifle over her shoulder.

“I wasn’t quick enough,” she said.

“Ezreal will be fine,” Vi grunted. “He’s not a helpless kid. I’m a bit more worried about us.”

Diana could have killed them all. The blood moon was a curse; the Institute had a sick sense of humour. Caitlyn wrapped Vi’s other arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t want her getting the drop on us again,” Caitlyn turned her gaze to the trail of droplets that led into the forest. 

Warwick was easy to track. Heavy footprints indented the soft ground, and specks of blood dotted the surrounding grass. They found him in a clearing, his underside cleaved open. Diana rested against a tree, her hand resting on the khopesh beside her. Her shoulders rose and fell with each faint breath. Lux chewed her lip. This was the woman Jarvan instructed her to befriend and extort. Her chestplate bore countless gashes. Blood seeped through the grey layer of under-armour and pooled on the ground underneath her. 

There were punctures in her neck. Savage bite marks. Diana had difficulty keeping her eyes open; her brand glowed with an unearthly light as her eyelids fluttered closed. Caitlyn readied her rifle. Diana’s fingers twitched, and Lux saw her hand wrap around her blade’s hilt. It was a weak motion.

Caitlyn pulled the trigger. Diana jerked as the bullet hit her between the eyes, and the grip on her weapon fell slack. Lux gaped as her body faded into the softest moonlight and drifted toward the sky. The blade vanished with her, giving off a final wink of light. 

“She was the diversion,” Caitlyn said after a lengthy silence, “to keep us away from our Nexus. A shame it had to end this way.” 

“Y’know, if you ignore the blood, guts, and werewolf corpse, this wouldn’t be a bad place for a picnic.” Vi’s attempt at easing the tension went unappreciated. 

Lux remained quiet. Jarvan was wrong about Diana; the rage on her face looked out of place, and the savagery of her attacks was unprecedented. She wanted to believe that the eldritch monster’s corruption overtook the moon’s power and sent her into a frenzy. Jarvan would be revolted if he saw the extent of Diana’s abilities under a blood moon. She was unstoppable. Nearly untouchable. The fluidity of her magic and the dexterity of her control made Lux envious. Moonlight was just another form of regular light. How long would she have to practice at her rate to be able to fight with a fraction of Diana’s power? Months? Years? 

Protecting herself and her family was more important, and she couldn’t hope to do so in her current state. Jarvan’s vision for Demacia would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Evelynn


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to BirdSpirit for beta-ing UwU
> 
> trigger warning: body horror and general queasiness

Spindly branches reached towards heras Lux stumbled through the darkness, batting away loose vines and leaves with her baton. The blood moon loomed overhead, and the tall trees twisted their thick roots, catching her around her ankle. She fell to the ground with a short cry, her baton tumbling out of her hand. Its charge flickered and died. Her breaths came out in terse bursts, and her mouth felt like cotton. 

A figure dashed from the darkness and struck her across the face with a jagged staff. The crystal emitted a fierce, purple aura as arcane magic swirled within its body. Lux’s fingers went to the root gripping her ankle, unravelling its hold on her with jerky motions. The root was wet with an acrid-smelling fluid, and by the time she wrenched her foot free, tender blisters dotted her hands, and the peeling skin made her fingers twitch in pain. 

A white smile unfurled across the shadow’s face, and it blinked open its golden eyes, shining with malice. An iron chain shot from its staff and embedded in her chest. Lux opened her mouth to scream, but water poured from her jaws and trickled from her nostrils. Her lungs burned; she couldn’t breathe. There was a tingling sensation behind her eyes. Water dripped onto the back of her hand. Rust spread from the chain onto her skin, coating her chest and neck with flakey metal. The shadow discarded its staff and morphed into a beast with four limbs, a pair of glowing red eyes, and a sinful grin lined with serrated teeth. 

Lux threw herself back and choked out more water as the chain in her chest rooted her to the ground. Her torso screamed in pain with every tug. She thrust her hand out, demanding that her baton fly back into her grip, but there it remained on the ground, lifeless. The beast descended upon her in a flurry of claws and inky spittle. 

Sharp talons raked down her face. Water seeped through her skin as it plunged a hand into her stomach with ease and jostled its wrist, sloshing around fluid and disrupting organs. Lux pushed back at the beast’s face with all her might, and the shadows swirled around her wrists, chilling her fingers to the bone. The beast took great pleasure in yanking out its hand, dripping with water. She was frozen under its domineering grip, and it leaned forward, chewing on her mouth with its jaw full of serrated teeth. It didn’t mind the algae-contaminated water that spewed from her lips as she groaned, thumping weakly at its chest. It dropped open its mouth and unfurled a long, black tongue glistening with thousands of tiny, blue eyes that blinked at her in unison. 

The sensation of blinking eyes, complete with leathery eyelids and tickling eyelashes, against her face made her skin crawl. She knew what came next. The tongue plunged deep into her eye socket, swirling around and severing the stringy muscles. It howled with glee as its tongue popped the eye out onto the ground with a wet  _ plop _ . 

From its gaping maw crawled hundreds of thousands of scuttering insects. They chirped a horrendous symphony as they wriggled down the creature’s tongue and onto her face. Their legs dragged against her cheek, leaving tiny welts that stung like acid, and Lux shut her eyes in vain as they burrowed into her mouth. Tiny mandibles ate away at her tongue, and there was a stinging sensation behind her sinuses. She couldn’t inhale. Her heart raced as a large bug forced its way from her nose and scuttled up to her eyes. She stared as the bug paused before her good eye, clicking together its elongated mandibles. Its antennae twitched side to side. She felt no pain as it wormed its way behind her eye. Three more joined, all nestled tightly in her eye socket. The pressure built as the bugs chewed at her muscles in unison. The insects covering her tongue and choking her throat deafened her cries of pain. 

Tree branches wrapped around her shoulders and yanked her away from the shadow beast’s bloodlust. She was thrown into a clearing and landed on her side, her head hitting the ground at an unfortunate angle. Her vision spun as she stared into the murky night sky devoid of stars. The moon peered down at her, apathetic to her suffering. There was no chain in her chest. Both her eyes were back where they belonged. Her baton was strapped to her belt. A blade’s tip rested against her jugular as a beam of moonlight shot from the sky. 

Lux pushed the blade aside. Her baton was in her hands, charged and powerful, as she rolled to her feet. Diana stared at her, face as impassive as the moon’s visage, cruel weapon held by her side. Neither made a move to attack. 

Lux grit her teeth and shot a bundle of light at Diana’s chest. It smashed against a tree trunk, dissipating into glittering glass with a sharp ring. Diana gave her one final look before retreating into the dark thicket. Moonlight illuminated her footprints. Lux realized her lungs didn’t burn, and her legs didn’t cry with strain as she chased after her through the forest’s winding pathways and domineering obstacles. 

Her heart seized in her chest. Diana stood knee-deep in the crystalline pond. The tip of her khopesh rested against the water’s surface. Her baton weighed as heavy as a boulder. Lifting it proved to be a challenge. Lux dropped it to the ground. The rock shattered into shards of quartz. Twisted, purple veins crawled up Diana’s cheeks and into her eyes, tarnishing her visage with malicious corruption. Her blade glowed with white light. 

Lux dodged the first arc of moonlight that crashed towards her, but the second one singed her skin and filled the air with the smell of burnt hair. Diana’s scowl warped her face, darkening her pale skin until it grew bronzed and weary. A gold crown materialized on her head. She brought her flagpole down. Lux rolled out of the way before it could skewer her heart. She had no weapon to defend herself with. Her fists and kicks wouldn’t do much good against the gold-plated armour that grew like scales over Diana’s skin. It pulled at her flesh until there was nothing but cold metal. 

“Abhorrent mage!” Jarvan’s voice boomed around her. She slammed her hands over her ears, desperately trying to quiet his deafening shouts. “Murderer! Heretic!” 

His lance cut across her cheek, drawing a line of gooey, black blood. Lux touched a hand to her wound, and the ink coated her fingers. Jarvan sneered at her and swiped forward, cleaving through her chestplate just as his form seized. His face convulsed, and his jaw opened in a silent scream. Lux heard a clean  _ snap _ as his mouth widened to impossible lengths, cheeks inflating like rubber and spreading like glue over his head. The gaping maw clamped down with a splittering crunch reminiscent of broken teeth. Her pulse jumped as Garen, donned in his armour, glared at her in contempt. His neck twisted to the side with a sickening  _ pop _ . His hair grew to his ears, darkening to a navy, and a steel helmet burst from his cranium. A screech sent Lux diving to the ground. Valor’s talons missed her head by a hair’s width. Quinn aimed her crossbow and stared down sights, releasing the trigger without remorse. 

The arrows sank deep into her chest, and viscous ink dripped through her flimsy chestplate. She spat out a mouthful of black, staining the grass below. The tip of a khopesh nestled its way under her chin and angled her head up. Diana stared down at her, impassive. Ink dripped from Lux’s teeth. She reached forward and took hold of the blade, pushing it away from her throat. If Diana wanted to cut her throat, she’d only have to jam her weapon forward. The edge stung her fingers, drawing beads of tar, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the flat side of the blade. The metal was cold against her lips, and the reverberation of magic sent a shiver up her spine. Dry grass crunched as Diana took a step back and disappeared into the darkness. 

*

“You’re distracted,” Quinn said, lowering her crossbow. “What’s the matter? You’ve had a glazed look in your eyes all week.” 

Lux sighed and let her light barrier fade into nothing. How could she tell Quinn of her psychedelic nightmares without sounding like a timid child? LeBlanc’s threats and Evelynn’s torture had left her mind in shambles and jolted her from sleep’s tender respite in a cold sweat, fearful of what lay in the dark with her. Garen’s arrival later tonight was a comforting reality, but sharing her fears with him would only evoke protection. She didn’t need safety; she had to face her reality on her own. 

“I’m all right,” she said. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m starting to think that nighttime matches were a mistake.” 

The same nightmare had haunted her every night for nearly two weeks. A shadowy figure bearing LeBlanc’s stretched smile would catch her in heavy iron chains before devolving into a beast — a hideous amalgamation of Warwick and Evelynn. It would slice her open and pluck at her organs like they were the most delectable fruits. Sometimes, it wouldn’t hesitate to flay her skin, exposing sinewy, still-twitching muscles. It’d chew off her lips and plunge its tongue, lined with thousands of eyes, into her skull, lapping around her eye until it rolled to the forest floor, still staring, and blood gushed from her empty eye socket. Bugs would swarm from its gaping maw, imbibing her mouth, squirming out her nose, and nestling deep into her eyes. 

Then came Diana. No matter how long the shadow-entity tortured her, the trees always yanked her away and tossed her at the moon’s mercy. Her pale visage would twist into Jarvan’s gilded crown and yell at her to repent. Garen never spoke, but the severity of his glower cut her deeper than Jarvan’s loathing. She saw her parents sometimes: her father’s proud face marred by a frown. Her mother’s wise eyes clouded with disappointment. Quinn always shot four arrows into her heart. 

What perturbed her the most was the recent diversion. She would bleed black ink, and then Diana would re-appear, swathed in moonlight, to end her suffering through decapitation. It hadn’t happened. Instead, she had crawled forward and kissed her blade. It chilled her blood just thinking of it. The vividness of the final sequence made her stomach clench. It would’ve been easier if Diana had swung her blade and lopped her head off. But she didn’t. That was the problem.

Quinn tapped her on the shoulder. Lux blinked, nearly dropping her baton in surprise. Valor squawked, the sound muffled by the hairband grasped in his beak. She touched her head; when had it slipped off? She took the hairband and brushed her fingers against his cheek, smiling when he offered a coo of happiness. 

Quinn looked at her expectantly. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You haven’t been back for long, yet you’re already diving head-first into matches and training. Maybe you should take it easy for a while.” 

She sounded like Garen. “I’m fine, really,” came her petulant response. “I guess being in Demacia made me forget how brutal some people can be, and how it feels to be horrifically dissected by a sadistic demoness.”

“Perks of being a Demacian champion,” Quinn grumbled with tangible distaste. “I want to say that I’ve gotten used to dying and reviving, but I haven’t. Not really.” 

Lux had demanded that Quinn push her limits: faster projectiles, mixed combat styles, siccing Valor on her at every opening. She had complied, but after much hesitation. Her first two matches had been disgraceful, and her subpar performance spoiled the Demacian image and shamed the Crownguard name. Currently, she was the weakest link. 

“Okay,” she took a gulp of air and readied her baton, “let’s go again.” 

Quinn shook her head but nocked her arrows all the same. They trained every day for hours at a time in between matches. When she wasn’t training, Lux took to translating various Ionian spellbooks. The Institute had materialized the tomes for her, and for once she was grateful for its omniscience. Meditation helped regulate the flow of magic through her body and increased her output, but it didn’t alleviate her nightmares or exhaustion. 

Lux dove to the ground and cloaked herself in a blanket of light before Quinn could pull the trigger. Valor soared high above. She scuffed her boot against a rock and saw Quinn jerk her head towards the sound, stifling a grunt as the last of four arrows grazed against her thigh. She had to be quicker than that. What good was discombobulation if she was too slow to avoid death? 

Her cloak exploded in a flash just as Quinn reloaded her crossbow and fired. Lux had less than a second to grasp onto the thin shreds of magic and weave a barrier around herself. The arrows slammed against her shield, the pointed tips puncturing through her magic. Lux grit her teeth and overflowed her baton, shattering her barrier and sending jagged shards of volatile magic through the air. Quinn took shelter under her thick cloak. 

Valor’s talons swiped against her cheek, and his heavy wing battered her ear as he swooped from the sky. She ignored how her wounds throbbed in time with her heart and focused on his errant flight pattern. Valor’s legs dipped down as he spun in the air. Lux sent a pulse of light forward, manipulating it into a thin rope as it travelled. Valor screeched as it fastened around his ankle and sent him careening to the ground. 

Arrows whizzed by her ear. Lux gasped as her earlobe split open, gushing blood. Quinn swung her fist, covered with hardened leather, at her nose, forcing her into a defensive position. Lux ducked out of harm’s way and stayed on her toes as Quinn continued her assault. Even without her crossbow, she was still taller, faster, and stronger. 

Lux wrapped herself in a cloak of light just as a fist smashed against her jaw. She cried out in surprise, teetering on her feet. She scrambled back, putting distance between them. Her magic held despite the brief lapse in concentration. Quinn’s hand went to her crossbow. 

The magic shroud dissipated as Lux channelled her magic into her baton, amassing a sphere of light that crackled with raw energy. Valor screeched, and Quinn’s eyes went wide. She nocked four arrows and released the trigger just as Lux swung her baton, launching the volatile orb of light magic towards Quinn’s chest. 

The ground trembled as Quinn’s arrows punctured the sphere’s surface. The magic crackled, arcing off the exterior in violent bolts, and hurled them both to the ground as it exploded. Lux landed on her back, and the world spun as the air was ripped from her lungs. Tiny fireflies swarmed in her vision as she stared up at the blue sky. The high-pitched ringing only intensified when she rolled onto her side, tasting dirt and blood on her tongue. The front of her armour was charred, and her arms stung as she peeled away what remained of her sleeves. Her skin was a delicate pink. A headache bloomed in her sinuses and spread to her temples within a matter of seconds. 

Valor circled Quinn like a vulture. Lux picked her baton off the ground and shambled her way over. The quartz tip was blackened with fatigue, and her muscles lagged with strain the longer she stared at it. She attached her baton to her belt. Quinn lay supine, staring up at the sky. She pried her helmet off her head as Lux collapsed onto the grass beside her. 

“New trick?” Quinn asked. “It was impressive; I didn’t know you could make it explode like that.” 

“You could say I learned by watching Syndra,” Lux said, curling her fingers into a loose fist when Valor landed to peck at them. “My light’s the opposite of her dark matter, but I saw how fluidly she manipulated her magic — like it was water. It was a part of her, and she didn’t fight against it.” 

She sighed. “I still fight against mine. It always feels like I’m trying to pass a needle through a brick. Sometimes I wonder why the universe gave me this burden. Part of me wants to know if it was a mistake, if someone else stronger, more dependable than me was supposed to bear this magic.” 

“And the rest?” 

“The rest is too scared to ask.” 

Lux turned her head in time to see Quinn exhale and her eyes flutter closed. She was struck by the creases that lined the corner of her eyes, the exhausted slope of her mouth, the few grey strands that stuck out against the dark navy. There was nearly a decade’s gap between them. Caught in the Institute’s incessant cycle of death and revival, it dawned on her that few were concerned with the passage of time. Why would they be, if they lived in a place that cheated death? Where time did not seem to flow? Lux kept her thoughts to herself. 

“I think you’ve already proven yourself worthy.” Quinn twisted her head and offered a wane smile. “In your own words, you fight and kill — bleed and die — to provide for Demacia’s unfortunate. Nobody forced you, yet you made that decision yourself. What more do you have to prove?” 

So much. 

Lux took Quinn’s hand and squeezed it, smiling in thanks. She kept her thoughts to herself.

*

The Institute’s heavy gates gave way with little resistance. Lux had sat in the foyer, catching onto passing conversations as the minutes crawled by. Two weeks, Garen had said. He’d arrive two weeks after her. His nightly patrol always ended at nine. As soon as the grandfather clock chimed the hour, Lux had jumped from her seat and pried open the gates. 

The outside entrance was empty and silent. The skies, normally a dark blue during the evenings, swirled with grey clouds and impending rain. She’d been travelling to and from the Institute for four years, but she never witnessed seasons. It was always sunny in the mornings, cloudy during the afternoons, and clear at nighttime.

The clouds rumbled with thunder, and bolts of lightning shocked across the sky, converging into a vivid vortex that screamed towards the earth. It struck the ground. The magic evaporated, and the lightning fizzled away, leaving faint sparks to wink out of existence. Garen stumbled on his feet, lightheaded. 

Lux felt her cheek burn as a grin stretched across her face. She shouted his name, sprinting across the gravel pathway. He had less than a second to react before she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing. His bulky armour hurt her arms, already sore from training, but it didn’t matter. 

“I missed you, too,” Garen said, his stern features softening for a moment. 

They entered the Institute, making small talk along the way. Garen’s room was opposite hers, right next to Jarvan’s. It was strange seeing her brother in casual clothes, free of heavy plating and Demacian colours. He had a habit of wearing his armour everywhere, even in their house. His dedication, or perhaps his paranoia, was admirable, but Lux knew better than to idolize it. 

The cafeteria hummed with lively conversation. She spotted a trio of yordles camped near the entrance, all squeaking in delight. There were few Ionians about. No Noxians. From the corner of her eye, she saw Garen’s shoulders sag as he exhaled his tension. The crowded atmosphere and buzz of conversation gave them much needed privacy. Lux selected a table near the back wall, right next to the buffet line, and sat down, organizing her thoughts while watching Garen pile steak after steak onto his plate. Her appetite had been nonexistent for the past two weeks; food lost its flavour and felt like paste going down her throat.

Lux composed herself and scanned the cafeteria once more. Jayce and Caitlyn sat together on the opposite end of the cafeteria. Vi, cradling a full plate and a drinking glass, joined them. There was no sign of red hair, chromatic scales, or a bladed cape. Most importantly, Lux couldn’t smell the thick, cloying aroma of crushed lilies and hibiscus. In her opinion, Katarina wore too much perfume. Garen came back with a plate teeming with steak, potatoes, and brown gravy. She shoved Katarina from her mind as her brother smiled at her, resting a napkin in his lap before tucking into his mountain of food.

She sipped at the glass of water he’d gotten for her. Her stomach rolled at the thought of gluey potatoes or bloody steak. Garen wiped his mouth with a napkin once a valley had been carved into his feast.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t come with you,” he said. “I hope these past weeks haven’t been too demanding?”

Bile rose in her throat. Her most recent nightmare replayed in her mind. Her skin, flayed and tattered to ribbons. The insects, burrowing. Jarvan’s spiteful sneer. Garen’s indifference. Diana.

“It’s been all right,” she smiled and sipped her water. “Some of my matches were frustrating, but it’s nothing that I couldn’t handle. I’m a Demacian, after all.”

Her answer mollified him, and she slipped away before he could barrage her with more questions. The selection of warm bread enticed her to pick up a plate and select a plush roll. It was enough for her to pick at without upsetting her stomach. A vine of blue grapes and a wedge of Demacian cheddar crowded her plate. Garen wiped his mouth as she sat back down, half of his plate demolished with gusto.

“Is everything all right back home?” she twisted a grape from the vine and squeezed it. It was firm, nearly unyielding, and exploded with fresh flavour in her mouth.

He sliced at his steak. Red juice seeped across his plate and mixed with the gravy. “Quiet,” he finally said, “but not content. I’m thankful for the peace, even if it is temporary.”

Goosebumps formed on her arms. Lux pinched off a bite of bread, rolling it between her fingers. It yielded to her anxiety as she tucked it into a compact ball. Garen glanced up from his plate, flicking his eyes from the abused bread pinched between her fingers to her face. She inhaled slowly, erasing the worry from her posture.

“There have been no attacks,” he said in a low voice. “No sightings of... him. Prince Jarvan placed a hefty bounty on his head. It’s been quiet enough that he’s planning to join us next week.” 

She jerked her neck into a nod. The balled bread tasted awful, like gummy cardboard. She ruined the texture. It took considerable effort to keep her face blank; Garen’s eyes bore into hers, searching for any sorrow. Her guilt was burrowed deep into her heart, far from prying eyes.

“And the outer walls?” she asked. “Tell me about your daily patrols.”

He latched onto the topic change like a lifeline. “Well, it’s been the same for quite some time now: very little activity.”

Lux let her gaze fall to her still-crowded plate. She’d take it back to her room and force it down her throat if she had to. It wouldn’t be right to waste it when so many had less than nothing. Garen cleared his throat, catching her attention.

“I—” he paused, clearing his throat again, “I visited Mother and Father yesterday. Just to catch up.”

She pressed her lips together and chewed the inside of her lip to keep tears at bay. It wasn’t enough; her sinuses stung, and her vision blurred.

“I told them about you,” he continued, voice soft, “and all that you’ve done for Demacia. Mother would be so proud of you, Lux.”

“And D— Father?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, staring down at her plate. A tear trickled from her eye. “What about him, Garen?”

She clenched her jaw as more tears slipped from her eyes. Garen set down his utensils and leaned forward to squeeze her trembling hand.

“I would hope so.”

*

Lux rubbed her palms against her tights before rapping on the wooden door. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. The smell of calming lavender swept towards her as the door swung open.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” Lux asked. Quinn opened then closed her mouth, greeting forgotten.

“Sometimes, but none recently,” she murmured, poking her head into the hallway. “What’s wrong?”

“I know it’s late, but can I come in?”

She had let Garen retire early; he desperately needed the rest. Even with the howling wind, her room was too quiet. She didn’t want her thoughts to drag her down one rabbit hole after another. It’d leave her wide awake, tear stricken, and gasping for mental relief.

Quinn blinked at her, then turned around and peeked inside her room. Finally, she nodded.

“Sure, but we’ll have to talk on the balcony. Valor will be cranky if he doesn’t get his requisite beauty sleep.”

Lux lingered near the doorway as Quinn ushered her inside. Valor slept face down on the largest pillow, wings spread by his side — a true spectacle of Demacian might. The walls of Quinn’s room were adorned with rough sketches of anatomical practice, beautiful watercolour paintings, and pastel portraits. Before Lux had a chance to ask about them, she peeled back the curtains, exposing a glass sliding door. 

Tiny, twinkling stars littered the night sky, free of looming rain clouds. The air was cool against her face. Quinn slid the door shut behind them. Lux leaned on the metal railing and peered down into the courtyard, taking in the hedge maze that sprawled out behind the Institute’s main building. Her room’s window had a limited view; she couldn’t see the winding hedges or groves of trees decorating the perimeter. 

“What’s this about nightmares?” Quinn joined her near the railing, looking up at the night sky.

Lux let out a sigh. “I’ve been having them ever since I encountered Evelynn and LeBlanc. It always plays out the same way: I’m stalked by some shadow creature, caught, torn apart, infested with insects” — she paused, considering her next words — “and then dragged into a clearing. I wake up just as something cuts my head off.” 

Quinn winced in sympathy. “I’ve heard some people say that dreams are abstract realizations of your fears and unconscious desires, and I suppose that makes sense.” 

She sighed, turning her head to look Lux in the eye, “When my brother passed away, I relived his death every time I closed my eyes. I was too slow, too weak, too powerless to stop that beast from gutting him. It haunted me for years. I couldn’t stand to go to the battle site; the memories were just too much. I realized that a part of the reason I was so insistent on joining the military was to get away from it all. It didn’t work, as I’m sure you can tell, and the horrors followed me. They didn’t let me run.” 

A thin smile graced her lips, and Quinn looked back into her dormitory. Lux followed her gaze until she spotted Valor, wings twitching with dreams of flight. 

“Valor helped pull me from my depressive rut. If it weren’t for him, I might not be here right now,” she said, turning her attention back to Lux, who frowned in sympathy. 

“I wouldn’t have killed myself,” Quinn backtracked, “but I’d be lying if I didn’t sometimes wish that tuskvore took my life instead of his. Suicide is a coward’s escape, and I knew better than to disgrace my parents, but if Death was adamant about taking me, then I wouldn’t have the strength or the heart to fight him.” 

Lux swallowed, resisting the urge to clear her throat. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Valor saved my life in more ways than one; it wouldn’t have been fair to him if I gave up so easily. I’ll admit, he can be mischievous at times, but I couldn’t ask for a better partner.” 

“Do you still dream about your brother?” 

“Sometimes,” Quinn let out a breath, “but only the good memories we shared with our family. Never the bad stuff. Not anymore. It’s difficult to confront those memories, but I’m proud to have made peace rather than let them subdue me.” 

They stood in comfortable silence. Lux peered up at the moon, bright with virtue and wisdom, and the darkness ebbed from the corners of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never let it be said that I don't give Lux a break
> 
> comments and feedback are mucho appreciation


End file.
